


No One Else Will Do

by StillFeelLikeATeenager



Category: One Tree Hill
Genre: F/F, Minor Lucas/Brooke. Lucas/Haley but not the main focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 60,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillFeelLikeATeenager/pseuds/StillFeelLikeATeenager
Summary: At the beginning of Senior Year, Nathan and Peyton have been together more than two years and it’s been amazing. So why has it been falling apart lately?  What’s Brooke up to?  How do Lucas and Haley fit into the picture?  How can Haley, whose never even dated, be the one to fix Nathan and Peyton? And what happens when a messed-up kid goes on a shooting spree at Tree Hill High?





	1. September 2006

**Author's Note:**

> What You Need To Know  
> We join the storylines just before the series 1 father/son basketball game and Dan’s ‘moneyburn’ party. All the characters are at the same point, except that it is September 2006, near the beginning of Senior Year, not the beginning of Junior Year. Nathan and Peyton have been dating for just over two years, but when we join them, they’ve been kind of on and off, and are currently ‘off’. At the end of the Junior Year basketball season, the Ravens made the playoffs before getting knocked out.  
> I’ve seen a few different dates for characters’ birthdays online (most online things have Lucas in March and Nathan in June); for the purposes of this story, Nathan’s is in August so he’s already 18. Peyton’s is in February, so she’s still 17.  
> This comes from a place where I think maybe Nathan was ready to be better, not that it took Haley to make him better. Plus there were, maybe, a few hints that before they were terrible together, Nathan and Peyton weren’t terrible together; so what if Nathan’s speech about wanting to be like they used to be had actually led to them finding their way back? With a little help from someone? Someone like Haley?  
> And yes, the usual disclaimer-y thingy; not my characters, unless they are originals in which case they are mine, and it's my storyline.

**September 2006**

“What do you call that?” he asks as he leans on the door frame and she angrily swipes black paint across a canvas.

“ _Love_. What do you want, Nathan?”

“It’s what I don’t want. I don’t want this for us.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that sooner.”

“Yeah. I know,” he says as he steps into her room. “I’ve been thinking about how we were when we started going out. Like that day at Wrightsville Beach. The nights here in your room.”

“We haven’t been that way in a long time.”

“But we _could_ be. C’mon Peyton. I’ve been thinking about you. And I know you’ve been thinking about me.”

“I’ve actually had a lot going on lately.”

“Yeah, me too. My Dad’s been going crazy about this father son game. My Mom … it’s like ever since she came back she’s been wanting to hang out.”

“I really can’t hear this right now.”

He crosses her room and leans around her, kisses her on the cheek then frowns. Her cheek tastes salty.

“You’ve been cry … Peyton?”

“Just … go, Nathan. And take that while you’re at it,” she indicates an item on her dresser.

“What? That’s the necklace I gave you.”  
“What? You mean the leash?”

He looks at her, hurt, somewhat confused though she doesn’t see how he could be. She’s the one that should be hurt. Another party. Another fight. Another slutty girl he spent an hour with out on the deck, occasionally peering inside … maybe to see if he could see her, or if she could see him. Maybe to see if she cared. Maybe to show her _he_ didn’t. But instead she just feels … numb. His eyes search hers, but she just stares back at him coolly. He reluctantly scoops up the little pile of silver, goes to leave then stops in the doorway and turns around.

“You know, just once, could you tell me what it really is instead of just telling me to leave?”

“What it _really_ is? Other than you being a prize ass?”  
“Yeah. There’s something else. Can you just …”  
“Today is nine years since my Mom died.”  
“I … I didn’t know.”  
“You never knew because you never asked.”

He goes back over to her and turns her around and really looks at her.

“And I was just complaining about my lame parental crap, which probably sounded really shitty and ... insensitive or something,” he rambles. He might not be all that articulate, but it’s at moments like this that she knows he does, actually, care. “But … I didn’t _know._ And yeah, I never asked but … you never told me either.”

He tries to hug her but she wriggles away.  
“Alright,” he says, resigned. “Well, how about you come to the game? Maybe we could hang out afterwards. Maybe we could actually … I dunno … talk about your Mom? If you want to. And I could not talk about mine. Or something.”

When he leaves, she sinks down to the floor, wrapping her slender arms around her knees. It had been so clear cut. She was done, she thought. She was going to tell him to fuck off and leave her the hell alone and she was going to really mean it this time.

“Dammit Nathan,” she mutters to herself, “you were supposed to be an ass, not … sweet. Now what am I supposed to do?”

 

 

After the game, which there’s no way she could skip after the Coach had been so nice to her at the cemetery earlier that day, she still doesn’t know what she’s going to say to him or …

“I knew you’d come.” And yeah, he sounds a little cocky about that, but he also sounds a little relieved.

“I didn’t come for you,” she bites out in self-defense before she can help herself.

The sound of a door behind them has them both turning on their spots, and has Nathan looking suspiciously from her to that other blond.

“You came for _him_!?” Nathan exclaims incredulously, eyes wide and hands extended in … what exactly? He doesn’t seem angry, he seems … confused, alarmed.

“Don’t say _him_ like that, Nathan. He’s your brother, whether it suits you or not. And he’s a decent guy. He didn’t ask for this messed up Scott situation either.”  
“So you did come for him?”

“No. I came for Whitey. Because unlike _you_ he was … never mind,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “And I came for the team.”

“The _team_?”

“Nathan, are you forgetting I’ve been cheering for these guys exactly as long as you’ve been playing with them? I’m here for them and …” she trails off, really not knowing how to explain it any more. She told him earlier in the day about the anniversary. She thought maybe, just maybe, he’d get it.

“And? For _him_?” Nathan half turns to gesture towards Lucas before facing her again, his eyes boring into her, waiting for her to answer him. Part of her wants to hurt him, tell him that yeah, she came here for another guy. But it’s just not true. Part of her wants him to get it without her having to tell him, explain it again; wants him to understand what this day means. _That_ part of her kind of hates that she has to spell it out for him. _Again_. Despite telling him, earlier, about what this day means, she knows he doesn’t understand the depth of the hurt. And she knows she’s not exactly been an open book lately, that expecting Nathan to know what’s in her head isn’t completely fair, not when she barely knows herself half the time.

“And because I couldn’t be alone tonight,” she says quietly, her downcast green eyes sad and glistening with tears. If she’d been looking at him she’d have seen the moment when he got it, when he winced, when he swore quietly under his breath.

She turns to walk away then turns back.

“Nathan, just … tell me why.”

Will he get it? Will he know what she’s asking for? Why her? Why him? Why _them_? Why another chance? Why different this time when not every other time?

“I told you why,” he answers quietly. “Because I don’t want us to be like this either. I don’t, Peyton. I want us to be like we used to. I know I’ve been a dick and I’ll be better. I’ll try harder. I don’t want to lose you. We’re … we’re _us_. We’re supposed to be; you and me. We used to say that. It was true. I want it to be true again.”

Peyton’s vaguely aware that Lucas looks surprised, more like _shocked_ , at Nathan’s heartfelt plea, but she really doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. She looks at Nathan, at this boy, almost man, that she’s spent … God … two years with. _How crazy is that. To be seventeen – well, he’s already eighteen, but she isn’t - and have been together for two years already?_ He looks back and she knows he means it. And he did know what she was asking for. For the main part. But she finds it’s not enough. Not after everything. Not to succumb right now anyway, so she turns to go.

“Peyton!”

She stops but doesn’t turn around.

“So …” he says to her set shoulders, “are we okay or what?”

She sighs and turns back, hands on hips, indecision written all over her face.

“I … I don’t know, Nathan. I told you today’s just not a great day for me, so just … let me think, okay?”

He nods and drags his hand through his hair as he watches her walk away. Every other time he knew it wasn’t for good, knew she’d come back. Or at least that she’d take him back when _he_ went to _her_ , which is how it actually worked almost every time. This time, he’s not at all sure. And he doesn’t like it one little bit. He wasn’t lying when he said he misses her. And it’s not just the wanting her, though it’s always that. It’s the way she knows him, the way she rubs his back after a bad dressing down from his Dad, the way she blinks slowly when she wakes up next to him, the way she slaps his thigh when they’ve been laughing so hard they cry (though God knows it’s been a while since they did that), the way she takes his face between her hands, the way those green eyes look up at him as if he’s something special off the court as well as on it, the way she pulls him back multiple times for just one more kiss when he has to go home.

“You’re an idiot, man,” Lucas says, breaking into his thoughts.

“Says the guy that’s never had a girlfriend! Unless you and your so called ‘best friend’ are a bit _friendlier_ than what you let on,” Nathan scoffs, his hackles immediately raised by this guy that’s edging his way into Nathan’s life.

Lucas ignores the jab and delivers one of his own.

“Well, for someone that has such a badass rep with the ladies, you haven’t got a clue what to say to them.”

“What the hell?” Nathan challenges, fists forming at his side.  
“How long have you two been dating?” Lucas asks innocently, though he knows very well. He wonders if Nathan even knows … or cares.

“Two years; a bit longer.”

So, he knows. That doesn’t mean he cares.  
“And you _still_ can’t tell what she actually needs to hear from you?” Lucas asks, eyebrow raised, his facial expression letting Nathan know that his _older by three months’_ brother thinks he’s an absolute idiot.

And maybe Nathan _is_ an idiot, because he can feel himself looking blankly at Lucas. He thought he’d said some pretty nice things. What did this virgin bozo know about anything?

“Idiot!” Lucas declares. “All she wanted to hear was that you love her. Even I could see that.”  
“She knows,” the brunette protests, though he certainly doesn’t sound sure.  
“ _That_ girl that was just standing here,” Lucas says with his hand extended, “did _not_ know. She wanted … _needed_ … to hear it.”

Nathan looks at the now distant blonde for a moment then turns away, frowning. She knows. _Right?_

He’s about to give Lucas an earful when he hears fast paced footsteps and looks up to see her returning, with hips and arms swinging and that determined Peyton Sawyer look on her face. She stops in front of him, puts her hands on her hips and weighs in.

“You’re brunette, right?”

“Well, doh!”  
“Don’t be a smartass! You’re brunette. So is Karen. And yet Lucas, your _brother_ , is blonde. So is Deb.”

“What is this? Some weirdo switched at birth conspiracy theory? We weren’t born in the same month, let alone on the same day.”

“No! But don’t you get how easily it could have been the other way around? It’s not _Lucas’_ fault, and it’s not because of something amazing _you_ did, that you’re _both_ in this crappy situation. Nathan, it could just as easily have been you being brought up by Deb on her own and Lucas living with Dan and Karen, getting the car for his sixteenth birthday, and living in the swanky house and having all the privileges that money buys.”

“Yeah right. Poor little Lucas!” he scoffs.

“All I’m saying is that it’s not _his_ fault. _None of this_ is his fault. And he’s done nothing to you to deserve the crap. He’s a damned good player and if you worked _with_ him instead of _against_ him, you could have a State championship at the end of the season instead of missing out in the playoffs like you did last year. And you know that’s true! He could take some of the load of carrying that team off you! A State champ win would help _both_ of you with college scholarships.”

“Well then maybe Lucas would like the insane pressure that comes with living with Dan freaking Scott, too!” he shouts at her, waving his hand towards Lucas in emphasis.

“I _know_ your father is a total ass, Nathan. I see it all the time. But you have your Mom.”

“Yeah. My pill-popping, Vodka bottle carrying Mom. Right. The same Mom who had an affair over the summer?” he rushes out, frustration making him careless about his admissions.

“Wh-what?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“You’re not the only one with parental issues, Peyt.”

“I know that, but … _Nate_ ,” she says gently, her eyes full of emotion and her voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she pleads, half reaching out to him before dropping her hands almost in defeat.

“I … at least I _do_ have her, right? My Mom?” he says softly, and she really doesn’t know if he’s referring back to her words to that effect or if he was actually trying to be a little considerate, by keeping this to himself.

“You didn’t tell me because you thought I’d say that? Just because I _don’t_ have my Mom?”

“No! I … don’t know. I just … look _don’t_ , okay? Don’t rant to me about not telling you something big when you never … look, you said you wanted time to think so, do that. Go and think.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, during which Lucas is very aware that they’ve both completely forgotten he’s even there. Eventually he moves, to scratch an itch on his wrist, and it breaks the spell. Peyton looks from him back to Nathan, then shakes her head and walks away. Nathan watches her for another long moment, then virtually mimics her head shake before turning and walking in the other direction, leaving Lucas standing alone, and maybe questioning, a little, what he thought about _Nate and Peyt_.

 

 

Two days later she arrives at her locker to find Nathan waiting for her, with a coffee for her in his hand. She takes it without a word but thanks him with a small smile.

“So,” he says, leaning against the locker next to hers, his charming grin in place, and reaching out seemingly confidently to tuck one of her curls back behind her ear. “How’s your thinking going?”

“My thinking?” she asks with a little crease between her eyebrows. Her perfect eyebrows.

“About how much longer you’re gonna hold out before you let me off the hook.”

She shakes her head, eyes closed and is about to cut him down when he covers her mouth with his hand.

“Sorry,” he cringes. “That’s not what I meant to say. I’m … fuck it, Peyton! I’m really nervous!”

Her eyes swing up to meet his and he’s stunned to see a flash of sympathy there. She smiles tentatively as he removes his hand, and he returns it. There’s a moment of pure affection before she pulls the shutters down again.

“Nathan, it’s not just about _letting you off the hook_ , okay?”

“Then what _is_ it about? I … I wish I could read your mind, but I can’t. I used to know what you wanted me to do and say and now it’s just …”

“I know,” she responds quietly, her hand on his bicep, burning into his skin more than the soft pressure should. “I know. It’s not just you. Or that little slut you were all over last weekend. But … that stuff about your Mom? I mean … you haven’t been talking to me, either. And my head’s just a mess and …”

“Peyton, I’m sorry I’ve kept stuff away from you and I’m sorry I didn’t know about your Mom. I should have asked. I should have _thought_ to ask. You … you do that stuff for me all the time. You’re always checking in with me and making sure my folks aren’t getting to me too much. I should have done it for you too, instead of just being into you being home alone so much and getting all that time with you.”

“You mean getting all that sex with me,” she retorts cynically.

“No. Well, yeah,” he admits with a boyish grin that makes her heart race a bit. “But not just that. You and your room? It’s like … an escape, you know? It’s …”  
“Safe?” she prompts.

“Something like that. When you’re not screaming and throwing stuff at me, I mean.”

She can’t help but laugh. He is such a damned charmer when he’s like this.

“So … you need more time?” he asks, ducking his head down to look into her face.

“Can we talk after this stupid money burner thing your Dad’s throwing on Friday night?”

“Okay,” he nods, one hand on her shoulder. “Okay. But …” he leans forward and kisses her so quickly she can’t avoid it. Just a tiny, soft little kiss, a breath and a sigh on her mouth. “I meant it all, Peyton,” he says close to her ear. “I want us to be like we used to be. I want to be better for you. And I know I’m dense and you’ll need to tell me what to do, but I want to do it, whatever it is. I don’t want to lose you.”

He leaves her then, greeting Brooke as she arrives at Peyton’s locker in a flurry of heels and perfume. Peyton watches him go, smiling at him when he stops and turns and stands for a couple of seconds, just looking at her intently before her attention is drawn away by Brooke’s perky voice.

“So, bestest friend, you and me, the mall after school.”

“Brooke, really? Shopping?”

“Totally. Let’s get you something to wear to Dan’s money burner thingie. Get you all so sexy that Lucas can’t hold off a moment longer.”

“Brooke, can you stop with the Lucas thing?” Peyton sighs, turning to pull her first block books out of her locker.

“Well, I would P. Sawyer, but he’s standing right over there behind you, all _moony_ looking,” Brooke chirps. “It’s kind of hard to avoid.”

Peyton turns to see that Lucas is indeed, standing at his locker a few down the row, watching her. She smiles and waves a small wave, then yells out to him that he was right, she really did love _The Great Gatsby_ , and what’s his next recommendation? He closes his locker door and takes the few steps towards her.

“Brooke,” he greets the brunette.

“Cutie,” Brooke replies, causing him to blush a little.

“Why don’t you try a little Dickens?” he says to Peyton warmly. _“A Christmas Carol.”_  
“It’s October, you fool,” she laughs.

“Hey! It’s a great story.”  
“Well, I guess we do have our own Tiny Tim,” she says drily.

“What?” Lucas says with a smirk remarkably like his brother’s. “You’ve been spying in the boys’ locker room?”

“Ohmigod!” she says, whacking his arm. “I meant _height_.”  
“Me too,” he replies with a chuckle. “What else could I _possibly_ have meant?” he says, all fake innocence, eyebrow quirked.

“Hmmm, I bet _you’re_ not tiny,” Brooke flirts at him before dragging Peyton off to their first class, leaving Lucas blushing and dumbstruck.

 

After school, at the dreaded mall, Brooke continues to tell Peyton she should give Lucas a try, but the ‘he adores you and having an obsessed boy around is awesome’ argument doesn’t wash with the blonde.

 “P., you know why you’re taking so long to take Nathan back this time, right?” Brooke eventually challenges.

“Well, I’m sure you’re going to tell me, Brooke,” the blonde replies with an accompanying eye roll.  
“Because you don’t actually want him anymore,” Brooke insists. “You _want_ Lucas.”

“I do not.”

“You do. Admit it; he’s a hottie.”  
“He’s attractive, sure,” Peyton agrees without fuss or bother. “Doesn’t mean I want him.”  
“You two have a … a … a … _thing_ ,” Brooke finishes weakly.  
“A _thing_?” Peyton teases. “Hmmm. Special.”  
“A _connection_ sort of thing!” Brooke says triumphantly having, at last, found a word. “A look into each other’s soul sort of thing. Not to mention that across the room eye sex thing.”

“Brooke, we’re just similar. Him with his literature and music, me with my art and music. We have a lot in common. He’s grown up without his Dad, I’ve grown up without my Mom. So yeah, we get each other. Doesn’t mean I want him. And trust me, there is no sex, eye or otherwise, going on with Lucas and me.”  
“But … you do. Want him.”  
“No, I don’t.”  
“Deep down you do,” Brooke pushes. “Deep down you’re wondering if you can have a Scott boy whose as good as Nathan in bed but nicer to you when you’re not in bed.”

“I can honestly say I have not wondered that on _any_ level at all, shallow or deep,” Peyton replies as she pulls a skirt off the rack to consider it, then puts it back, kind of bored with this whole looking at clothes thing. “And exactly how do you know how good Nathan is in bed?”

“You tell me all the time,” the brunette says swiftly, turning away to rummage through a rack of dresses, hiding her face in the process.

“I do not!”

“Well ... then people talk … all the _other_ girls talk,” she says, reminding Peyton of Nathan’s many infidelities. “And it’s implied by the fact that you keep taking him back. That must be the reason, ‘cos it sure as hell isn’t the fact that he’s good to you in any other way.”

“Brooke,” Peyton warns.

“Anyway,” the brunette continues. “We’re not talking about Scott the younger. We’re talking about Scott the elder and the fact that you want him.”  
“I do not.”  
“ _He_ wants _you_.”  
“No, he doesn’t.”  
“Have you not seen his soulful _I want you P Sawyer, you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole universe_ looks from across the classroom?”

“He _thinks_ he wants me. He doesn’t.”  
“Oh really? And you know this how?” Brooke asks, tapping an impatient foot, unused to her friend resisting her arguments for so long.  
“He’s actually in love with someone else,” Peyton replies casually. “He just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

 

 

“So, what’s the deal?” Peyton asks as she sits next to Lucas in the quad. “Are we gonna hang out at this annual Scott money burn or what?”

 “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna spend the night with Nathan and Dan on my Friday off? I don’t think so. I’d rather stay home with _The Great Gatsby_.”

“And read it for what? The hundredth time? You know, I read a book last night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s about these girls and these guys, and they’ve all got this really weird vibe thing going on. But there’s all this drama, ‘cause one of the guy’s friend’s tutoring this ass of a jock who turns out to be none other than the guy’s brother. And one of the girls is trying to be friends with one of these brothers and trying to figure out all her shit with the other one, who happens to be her assy jock boyfriend, except maybe he’s not right this minute. And the other girl, the tutor, is trying really hard not to actually _like_ the ass of a jock, but she’s working out that underneath it all he’s actually alright. Well, sometimes. So, the girls are kind of sorting it out but the guys are still totally clueless. So, the whole thing comes to this great, big climax at this big party at the two brothers’ evil Dad’s house.”

“Really? Hmm. What happens in the end?”

“You’re just gonna have to show up to find out,” she replies as she stands and walks away. Lucas sighs, watching her hips swing and her legs … do their leggy thing. Well, he’s no better off than he was before that weird conversation.

 

 

Haley watches them talking (arguing) just outside the tutor centre for quite some time. She’s about to head out and interrupt – Nathan is already ten minutes late for his session – when Peyton throws her arms up in the air, turns on her heel and walks. Nathan shakes his head and turns, notices that Haley has been watching through the window in the door, rolls his eyes at her, opens the door and wanders in.

He takes a seat, sighs, hands Haley the paper in his hand, pulls out a text book and starts reviewing while she looks at his paper.

“Still in denial?” Haley asks Nathan as he ponders over his work and she grades his last practice exam.

“About what?” he asks, only half paying attention.

“Missing her. It’s okay that you do.”

“What … are you my tutor or my shrink?”  he tries to fob her off, but she’s got his full attention now.

“Whatever you need,” she shrugs.

“I treated Peyton pretty bad,” he says quietly. “She had every right to walk away.” He pauses then smiles ruefully at Haley’s sceptical look. “Okay, yeah, it was my fault,” he fully concedes. “I screwed up. I just wish I had another chance.”

“Nice work.”

“That was the _truth_ ,” he protests, a little hurt at what he thinks is a suggestion he’s lying.

“No. On your practice exam. 81.”

“Oh. You know, it’s funny,” he muses. “I think _we’ve_ actually talked more than Peyton and I have. Lately, I mean.”

“Peyton and I?” she repeats. “Good job!  Well … maybe there’s more than one lesson in all this,” she suggests with a smile.  
  
“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m a tutor, you’re a student; you talk to me, I talk to you … and your grades get better. You and Peyton date; you _don’t_ talk to Peyton, she _doesn’t_ talk to you and … you guys are broken up right now, right?”  
“No!”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I heard …”  
“She’s … thinking about it. But she’ll come back. I know she will.” His confidence wavers noticeably on that last few words. “She always does.”  
“Nathan, you’re saying the words but you really don’t seem so sure.”

“She will. She has to.”

“Why?” she asks, seemingly genuinely interested.

“Why what?”  
“Why does she _have to_?”

“Because. Just … _because_ ,” he says, as if that’s enough.  
“You really do miss her,” Haley says softly, covering his hand with her tiny one. He flushes a little but says nothing.

He looks at Haley James and finds himself thinking she’s pretty, really pretty, with her soft doe-like brown eyes and her quiet voice and her supportive nature. He’s been feeling so lost and so uncertain and, for all the bravado, he’s really not at all sure Peyton will come back this time. Which is really fucking ironic, ‘cos it’s the first time when they’ve broken up, or been on a break, or whatever the hell this is, that he hasn’t just gone out and found some willing girl to have a bit of fun with. He has no idea why he hasn’t this time. Well, he does. But he’s not going to say that to anyone, let alone his tutor, nice as she is.

Haley smiles at him and shakes her head.

“You two are more than what people think, huh?” she half asks, half states.

“I …”

“You don’t have to explain to me,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s … nice … to find out there’s more to you than all that …”  
“All that what?”

“I dunno. Bluster and BS?”

He laughs a little.

“Yeah,” he says looking a little shamefaced. “Peyton always calls me on that too.”  
“So … what’s up with you two then?”

“I guess maybe she’s really had enough of my crap this time. I guess …” He pauses, looks down as if he can’t face what he’s about to say. “I guess she’s deciding if it’s one more shot for me or … or no more shots.”

“And what do you think about that?” she prods gently.

“I … just want her back,” he says simply.

“Have you told her that?”

He nods and she smiles that pretty smile at him, encouraging him to go on.

“It’s … I’m not good at this stuff,” he explains, “but it’s just … you know … when it all comes together. When you get each other and you each have crap going on and you help each other through it and you don’t have to explain every little thing.”

“Meeting of the minds, huh?”

“I guess. Well … _I_ don’t have to explain anything to _her_. I’m … not so good at knowing what she … not anymore. And, you know, it doesn’t harm matters that she’s so fucking … sorry … so seriously hot.”

“Hot? Or … beautiful?” Haley asks.

He looks at her for a moment, thinking about that.

“Both,” he says after a few moments. “Most girls are one or the other; she’s both.”

Haley grins and nods.

“Does it matter which?” he asks her thoughtfully. “Do girls care which one guys think they are?”

She tilts her head, considering and he thinks again, that she’s really pretty. And maybe that Lucas is lucky to spend so much time with her.

“Um,” she replies eventually, “it matters to _me_. I can’t speak for all girls, but I’d rather be called beautiful than hot. I mean, you know, if I …”

“What do you think _she’d_ prefer?” he cuts in.

“Nathan, I don’t really know Peyton well enough yet to …”  
“Yet?”

And she can tell by his tone that he means how does she know her at all, not making any kind of comment about getting to know her better in the future.

“Well, yeah. She’s spending a fair bit of time with Lucas,” Nathan winces at that, “and he’s my best friend so I’ve got to know her a little. But I still don’t …”  
“But what do you _think_?”

“I think … I think _she’d_ rather have someone think she was both,” she says with a cheeky little grin.

“Yeah. I hope so. Well … I think _Lucas_ is the kind of guy that would call a girl beautiful rather than hot, so I’m sure you’ll …”  
“What? No! We’re just ...”  
“I know. _Best friends_. Yeah, right, Haley James,” he says as if they’re sharing a secret.

“We are!”

He looks at her and shakes his head with a knowing smile.

“I bet you’ve kissed him,” he says suddenly, then laughs as she blushes bright red.

“You see!” he says triumphantly. “I was right.”  
“No! It was …”  
“What? Drunken one-night stand or something?” he suggests with a cocked eyebrow.

“No! It was just … we were thirteen and it just …” she trails off, her shaky voice giving away her embarrassment. Nathan sits back, arms across his chest and considers her.

“Let me have a crack at this,” he says.

“What?”  
“It’s my thing. Brooke Davis has this freaky sex-radar thing where she can tell in an instant if two people have done it together. And _my_ off the court superpower is that I can work out the general history without much to go on.”  
“You can _not_!” she protests.

“Alright, Haley James. Let me see. Thirteen, right?” He studies her and watches how flustered she gets. “It was your first kiss!” he says after a few moments, nodding his head in certainty. “Right?”

“How did you ...? That’s …”

“I know! Man, I’m good. Was it his as well?”

“I really shouldn’t tell you that,” she denies, blushing and shaking her head so that her hair swishes about her shoulders.  
“You just did. It was both of your first kiss. So, you kissed. And even if you didn’t know _then,_ ‘cos it was your first one, in hindsight, if you compare it, you must know if it was more … something, more _everything_ ,” he emphasises, wiggling his eyebrows at her suggestively, “… than the others.”

Her hands fly to her flushed cheeks and her eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says quietly, with a knowing nod. “ _I_ get it now. Nothing else to compare it to?”

She hides her face completely behind her hands now, mumbling that this is so not a conversation she ever thought she’d be having with _Nathan Scott_.

“So,” he considers, “does that mean you’re still a ...?”

“Oh no!” she exclaims, interrupting him before he can say the word. “I am _not_ answering that!”

“Again; you just did.”

“Ohmigod,” she mumbles in painful embarrassment, wishing she could just slide under the table.

“Hey,” he shrugs, “so what? I thought you were a _still waters run deep_ kinda girl but I didn’t pick you for a clean teen kinda girl. Still … each to their own, right?”

“Really?” she asks, peeking out from behind her hands. “I thought you’d laugh your ass off at me.”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wish I’d held off a while.”

“You do? How old … oh … sorry I shouldn’t …”

“How old was I?”

She nods, blushing again.

“Not quite fifteen.”  
“Ohmigod. That’s _really_ young. Or it feels like it to me. How on earth does that even happen?”

“Well, Haley dear, when a man and a woman really love each other …” he says drily, in a pretty good impression of a concerned Dad.

“Oh, shut up! You were … in love? At not even fifteen?”

“Nah. Not even close. I was the only freshman on the varsity basketball team and I got drunk at a party right at the start of the season. One of the cheerleaders took a shine to me and thought she’d make my night and pop my cherry.”

“Ew,” she cringes. “Oh, I’m sorry, but to me that just seems …”

He shrugs again. “Yeah, maybe. But it’s not like I didn’t have a _really_ great time. Well … _times_ …” he corrects himself with another suggestive grin.

“Oh _please_ , stop!” she laughs.

“Look, sure there’s times, lots of times, when I wish I’d held off a bit, but hey! When Taylor James gets a guy in her sights, it’s …”

“No _really!”_ she shouts, looking totally mortified. “Please, stop! Right there!”

“What?” he asks, thinking her reaction is a little over the top.  
“Taylor James?” she bites out.

“Yeah.”  
“Think about it, Nathan.”

He looks confused for a bit, when Haley waves her hands at herself, then when she says “Haley _James_. Taylor _James_?” he looks mortified.

“Oh fuck! I’m so sorry,” he says, now trying not to laugh. “Mind you, it _could_ have been worse.”

“How!?” she asks, gobsmacked. “My tramp of a sister deflowered my student!”

“ _Deflowered?_ Now _that’s_ ‘ew’! Well … worse? She could’ve targetted your best friend, who also happens to be my brother, instead. Or even as well as. Or even … _both at the same time_. That’s how it could’ve been worse.”

“Well, he wasn’t on the team then, but he used to be at our place all the time and … oh God, you’re right,” she declares, mock horror on her face. “Well this is just _fine_ , then!” she says, laughing. “My sister having _your_ notch on her bedpost … twice, apparently … is just fine with me!”

“You don’t want me to correct you on that _twice_ , do you?” he teases her, laughing when she covers her ears and sings la-la-la-la-la at him until he makes a zipping motion across his mouth. “But we still have this problem, Haley James,” he says, leaning forward.

“What’s that?”  
“You need to know if your very sweet thirteen-year-old first kiss with my …” he stops, blinking fast. Was he about to say brother? Fuck. Did he say brother earlier on?

“Your brother?” she asks archly.  
“You need to know if that kiss with _Lucas_ was it. And you’ll never know unless you get something to compare it to.”

“Oh right, of course! So, I’ll just walk around the school randomly kissing guys!”

He shakes his head a little and before she knows what’s happening he’s taking her face between his hands and his lips are on hers. There’s no pressure and no heavy breathing and no wandering hands and nothing even approaching tonsil hockey. He’s just sweet and gentle and she sighs when she feels him pull back a hair’s breadth then place a second soft kiss on her lips before he sits back.

“Wh … what was that?” she asks a little breathlessly.

“Wow, you really are an innocent,” he chuckles. “That, Haley James, was what is commonly known as a kiss. If you didn’t know that, I think you and Lucas might have done it wrong.”

“But … why?”

“You sure you’re smart enough to be a tutor?” he teases. “I’m a _champion_ kisser, Haley. Ask just about any girl in Senior year and they’ll tell you.”  
“ _Any_ girl?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“Well, no. Just the cheerleaders and the party girls. And some of last year’s Senior year too, come to think of it. Oh … and a couple from the year before that,” he shrugs.

“But … _why_?”

“’Cos now you know,” he replies as if it’s the simplest thing ever.  
“Know _what_?”  
“Something tells me you still think that kiss when you were thirteen was better. And we both know what that means.”

“I’m not telling …”  
“No. And I won’t ask you to. But at least _you_ know now,” he says smugly.

“Um … I think our tutorial is over,” she says as she moves papers into a neat pile, even though they’ve done the grand sum of ten minutes actual work, if that. “I have a shift at the café I need to get to.”  
“Tomorrow?”  
“Yeah. But no kissing, mister!” she says with a laugh, then flushes with embarrassment and grows awkward. “I mean, I’m not saying you would want to or …”  
“Hey,” he says, “you’re awesome, Haley. You almost make me wonder why I never looked past cheerleaders and party girls.”  
“Almost?” she teases back, before pausing and considering him. “So … what _stopped_ you from looking outside the in crowd? Too worried about your A list rep?”

“Nope,” he says simply. “A sarcastic, moody blonde stopped me.”

“Well, here’s a hint, Nathan. If you really want her back, stop kissing the other cheerleaders and party girls as well.”

“I haven’t … this time.”

“Does she know that?”

“I … don’t know,” he replies, looking startled. “I … I can hardly go up to her and say _Hey babe, aren’t I great, I haven’t actually played around on you this week,_ now can I?”

Haley stands and gathers her books into her bag.

“No,” she agrees, “but maybe I can find a way to bring that little piece of information to her attention.”

“You’d do that? For … me?”  
“Maybe,” she answers. “ _If_ you bring that essay back tomorrow afternoon, re-written and with no grammatical errors. And it wouldn’t be for you, per se,” she continues as she lifts her pile of books and papers. “It would be in the interests of true love.”

 

 

Lunchtime Friday, the day of Dan Scott’s annual basketball money burn, and Peyton and Haley are sitting at a table in the quad, waiting for Lucas.

“So,” Peyton says after a silence, picking at her backpack strap and not meeting Haley’s questioning gaze.  
“So?” Haley eventually prompts.

“Um, how’s … how’s your tutoring going?”

“In general? Or with anyone in particular?” Haley teases gently.

“Haley!” she whines, flushing a little.

“It’s going well. He … he’s actually not stupid,” she says as if she’s still getting used to that idea.

“I know that! He just …”  
“Prioritises all things basketball-related?”  
“And all things party-related, and all things getting drunk-related.”  
“And all things Peyton Sawyer-related,” Haley adds in a knowing, maternal tone.  
“What? No. Well, not lately anyway.”

“It used to be different, right?”  
“That sounded a lot like a statement not a question.”  
“Sorry.”  
“No. I … it’s okay. But how did you …?”  
“Um. I … I don’t want to make you mad,” Haley prevaricates a little uneasily.

“Mad?”  
“I hear you can be kind of scary.”

“You hear that from who?”  
“From whom.”  
“Don’t tutor me! Who said I’m scary!?” she insists, leaning forward and looking at Haley intensely.

“Um, you’re being a little scary right now, actually.”  
“Oh. Sorry?”

“It’s okay. I guess it’s a tough time, right?”  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“Um … your …. um … limbo? Your … relationship limbo?”

“Hummph,” Peyton snorts. “The waiting for the hammer to drop, you mean?”

“Hammer?”

“Any minute now the rumour will break,” Peyton explains darkly.  
“Rumour?”  
“Which Slutty McSlutface Nathan’s screwed this time.”  
“He hasn’t,” Haley tells her confidently, thankful for the neat segue. She’s been thinking and thinking and thinking about how she could broach this subject but ... well, Peyton Sawyer _is_ a little scary.  
“Sorry?”  
“I … um … he … he kind of talks to me a bit? During our sessions?”  
“Your _sessions_ , huh?” Peyton says drily with a raised eyebrow.

“Our _tutor_ sessions.”

Peyton plays with her bag strap again, question after question flying through her mind, every one of them showing on her downturned face.

“Um … he talks to you?” she eventually asks, without raising her eyes. She sounds both hopeful and envious and Haley finds herself really warming to this human version of Peyton Sawyer.

“Yeah. About you mainly,” she replies.

 _That_ makes the blonde look up sharply.

“Me?” So hopeful.

“He … um … he _really_ misses you. He knows he screwed up.”

“Screwed up and screwed _around_ , probably,” the blonde replies tartly.

“He told me he’s done that before. And he said he hasn’t this time.”  
“I … he said that?”  
“Yeah.”

“Um … did you … did you believe him?”

“I did, actually,” Haley says with a little nod.

“So,” Peyton asks quietly, “do you … um … know where he is?”

“Nathan?”  
“Yes, Nathan. Who else?”

“Who else, indeed? No. But I do know he was going to geo and I also know Smithson’s geo class was dismissed early ‘cos his wife’s gone into labour. What would Nathan usually do with unexpected free time?”

“Hit the gym, I guess.”

“Or hit on a random girl,” inserts Brooke as she arrives just in time to hear Haley’s question and Peyton’s answer. “Hey, P. Sawyer,” she says, inserting herself between them on the seat. “And … Tutor-Girl.”

“Brooke …” Peyton protests.

“Hey! You know I’m right. Usually it’d be _you_ he’d text to meet him in his back seat, but ...”

“Brooke!” Peyton protests, embarrassed and looking at Haley apologetically. “It’s not like that happened _that_ often! And, I meant … Haley has a _name_ , and it’s _not_ Tutor-Girl.”

“ _But_ ,” Brooke continues firmly, with a dismissive wave of her hand regarding Haley, “now that you’re using your brain and not taking him back, he’s probably _not_ pumping iron. He’s probably pumping that very fine ass of his into a slutty sophomore.”

Peyton gasps a little, looks hurt, devastated actually, but remains silent. Haley - noticing the blonde pretend to push her hair back from her face, but taking a second to wipe away a solitary tear – considers Brooke and sees something she doesn’t recognise, but knows she doesn’t like. At all.

“Ignore me, P. Sawyer,” Brooke eventually says with an impatient sigh, “he probably just cut out for the day.”

“We’ve got a tutorial after lunch,” Haley interjects. “He wants to go over his calc stuff again before his test last period.”

“So?” Brooke asks abruptly, looking at Haley a little disdainfully.

“So, I don’t think he’d cut out. He’s really working hard to pass that test.”

“Working hard? _With_ you or _on_ you, Tutor-Girl?” Brooke suggests archly, with a hard glint in her eye.

“What?” Haley asks, her eyes wide and her tone very unimpressed.  
“Nothing. Anyway … so he’s AWOL?”

“Who?” asks Lucas as he joins the group. “Nathan?”

“Yeah,” Haley replies, still trying to work out Brooke’s behaviour.

“He’s in the weight room. Or he was.”

“You talked to him?” Peyton asks, her head coming up quickly to meet Lucas’ gaze.

“What? No way!” he chuckles. “I don’t have a death wish! I had an idea for a new play and I went to see the Coach. Nathan was just finishing up and heading to the showers.”

“A new play?” Peyton asks a little vaguely, an image – a _vision_ – of Nathan in the shower flitting into her head, making her stomach twist and heart thump. Quickly followed by an image of him in his car, with an anonymous _slutty sophomore_ , making her stomach twist even tighter and her heart thump even faster.

“Yeah.” He sits opposite her and starts describing his play, but she’s clearly distracted and stands suddenly.

“Sorry. I ... I just remembered I need to drop a couple of sketches into my art teacher.”

She’s gone in a flash of limbs and curls, and a second later Brooke also leaves, leaving Lucas and Haley at the table. He notices Peyton’s portfolio under the table, hummphs a little and realises she’s fabricated an excuse to leave. That she’s probably gone to see if Nathan really was in the weight room. He has no idea what he’d walked into in terms of the conversation between the girls, but he recognises an upset Peyton Sawyer when he sees one. He wordlessly shows the folder to Haley and, following his hunch that Peyton walked towards the art block just to lend credence to her story, but was actually taking the long way around to the gym, heads off towards the latter, where he’s waiting when she arrives shortly thereafter.

“Lucas? Why are …? How …?” She stops, flustered at being caught out.  
He raises his eyebrow and hands her the folder then walks away.

“Hey Luke?” she calls. When he stops and turns back she smiles. “Thanks.”

He nods and heads off to return to Haley, and, a minute later, the door behind her opens and Nathan emerges, hair still quite damp, smelling all freshly showered and just … yeah.

“Hey,” he greets her, surprised.

“Hey.”  
“You okay?”

“Um … yeah. I just … I wanted to say good luck for your calc test,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear in the shy gesture he loves. “I know it’s a big one and Haley said you’ve been working really hard.”

“Okay? Thanks.”

“ _You_ okay?”

“Um, yeah. I … when I saw you I kinda hoped …”  
“We said after the party tonight, right?”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair and continues to look at her hopefully.

“I have a tutorial to get ready for,” he eventually concedes when she says nothing further.

 

 

In last period English, Brooke forces a seat switch on an unsuspecting Bevin and leans over to Lucas conspiratorially.

“How are you, Lucas?”

“Bored,” he replies, wondering why she’s initiating a conversation with him.

“And lonely, right? Just a smidge?”

“Brooke, whatever drugs you’re on, save them for the party, okay?”

“Ah, _the party_. Guess who’s coming with me? I’ll tell you; Peyton.”

“Whatever. I knew she was going. She’s making a decision about Nathan.” He’s trying terribly hard to sound offhand. She’s not stupid enough to fall for that.

“That was Pod Peyton. She’s totally back on track. A _new_ track. And I think the new Peyton would be open to discussing making a different kind of decision about a different Scott boy.”  
“Did she tell you that?” he asks, sounding way more hopeful than offhand.

“She tells me everything,” she shrugs.

“What are you up to, Brooke?”  he asks suspiciously.

“What? I just want to see two people, that are _perfect_ for each other BTW, together. Is that a crime?”

Lucas looks forward at Peyton, who turns around and waves a little wave at him before turning back to the front of the class. Brooke smiles at him and wriggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“See! _Perfect_ for each other!” she whispers again.  
  
Coincidentally, Peyton and Nathan happen to hit the carpark at the same time after school. He has no idea if he should speak to her or not. The awkward small talk is driving him crazy; he just wants her to come back to him.

“How’d it go? The calc?” she ventures, solving his dilemma.

“Good, I think.”  
“You think?”  
“I dunno! I knew most of the answers and I’m not used to that. Maybe I just thought I knew it and I got them all wrong.”

She laughs and he finds he can’t take his eyes off her lips and her teeth.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, Nathan,” she reassures him.  
“Um …” he begins uncertainly.  
“What?”  
“It’s just … Haley said something in our tutorial session.”  
“What?”  
“Something about Brooke being weird with you at lunch? Kind of bitchy?”

“She …”  
“What’s up?”  
“She ...” Peyton’s about to make a dismissive, fairly bitchy comment herself, then recalls Haley’s comments about her and Nathan not talking to each other. So, she decides to tell him and see how he reacts. “She just made some comment about what you were probably doing at lunch.”

“Yeah? And?”  
“She said something like you were probably in the back seat of your car ‘pumping your very fine ass’ into a sophomore slut.” She used her fingers to place air quotes around those words.

“I wasn’t,” he shrugs. “I was in the gym.”  
“I know. Lucas said.”  
“Is that why you came to the gym at the end of lunch? To see if I really was there?” he asks, putting it all together.

“No. Kind of. I don’t really know … I just … usually Brooke tells me to just give in already and take you back. This time she’s telling me not to let you, that … I’m using my brain by saying no. Except that I’m …”  
“Babe …” he begins, reaching for her hand, hoping that she’s starting the conversation he’s been waiting for, and wanting to warn her, somehow, not to listen to Brooke.  
“Nathan,” she sighs, withdrawing her hand. “Don’t. Don’t call me that.”

“She’s trying to cause trouble,” he warns.  
“Why would she do that? No. She’s just looking out for me.”

“But you’re gonna make up your own mind, right?” he asks, something she can’t pick in his voice and stance.

“I …”  
“Hey, you ready?” comes a voice from behind them. Lucas.

“Um, yeah,” she says, distractedly.

“Peyton?” the brunette asks, a little aggressively.  
“Nathan, we ... we just have a study session, okay?”  
“But you’re coming tonight?” he asks. “To the basketball party?”  
“Yeah, of course.”

“And?” he pushes.  
“Yeah. We’ll talk and yes, I’ll make up my own mind.”

 

 

Later, in her bedroom, where she’s getting ready for the party with Brooke, Peyton’s applying a dark red lipstick when Brooke looks over at her.

“Haven’t you heard goth is the new geek?” Brooke quips, tossing a tube of gloss to her friend and continuing. “Tonight’s gonna be killer. You and Lucas, me and … whoever I feel like … an open bar.”

“There is no me and Lucas,” Peyton says calmly, as she wipes away the deep, dark red and applies the lighter, prettier gloss.

“For now,” Brooke shrugs. “You know, he’s _loving_ the idea that you’re coming tonight.”

“How do you know that?” Peyton asks in a bored tone.

“‘Cause he told me he’s hot for you. He was actually very sweet about it.”

“Lucas Scott said something as bold as he’s hot for a girl?”  

“You know you two are meant to be together.”

“I know no such thing.”


	2. Dan Scott’s Money Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of Nathan/Peyton raciness in this one. I think M rating still applies, that it doesn't tip over into explicit but leave a note if I've got that wrong.

They’re on opposite sides of the room, Nathan and Peyton, when their eyes meet, and they start walking towards each other as if compelled by unseen forces. They’re only a few feet apart when Brooke swoops in and drags Peyton off to talk to Lucas. Again.

Nathan swears under his breath but feels slightly better when he sees Peyton look back over her shoulder and mouth _sorry_ at him.

A half hour later he finds her coming out of the upstairs bathroom and unceremoniously drags her around the corner into his room. He goes to close the door, but she stops him by placing her hand on his forearm.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re not closing that door so we can make out, Nathan.”  
“You saying you _want_ to make out?” he grins hopefully.

“You have to stop the crap with Lucas and give him a chance,” she says firmly, her hand moving from his arm to join her other, crossed over her chest.

“What is that? Is that a _condition_ for us sorting things out?” he asks suspiciously.

“What if it is?” she challenges, eyebrow raised. “You gonna do it?”  
“If I do that, then you have to do something that’s hard for you, too,” he counters, completely surprising her. He’s really toned down his reactions to the thought of Lucas being … _something_ to him.

“Like what?” she scoffs. “Turn a blind eye when you screw around with other girls?”

“No. I’m not … I _haven’t_ , okay? I _won’t_. I want … look … if I piss you off, will you stop going straight to break up mode instead of hashing it out?”

“Stop going straight to screwing other girls if we fight and I will!” she tosses back at him in defence, not even thinking about what he’s asking her to do.

“Okay,” he agrees simply.

“Okay,” she repeats, a little shocked.

“So … are we ...?”

“I’m still thinking about it,” she answers, still stunned at the simplicity, albeit somewhat heated, of the exchange they just had.

“ _Peyton_!”

“I … I _want_ to. Okay? But Nathan have you actually thought about the last few weeks? You stole that bus; _you_ were the ringleader and you let other people go down for it. All that stupid hazing! You took my car without asking. You drove it while drinking. You wrapped it around a pole. You tried to blame Tim; your best friend. You lied to me. _Again._ And you … last time we …”  
“What?”  
“Last time we were together … parked up … _kissing_ … at that basketball court.”  
“What, that fight? Over _him_?” There’s the emotional reaction again.  
“That’s not the _point_! The point is we were alone, and all _I_ could think about was the kissing and your hand being on my ass and … how much I wanted … and that whole time all _you_ could think about was laughing at a team mate, at your …”  
“Please, just don’t call him my _brother_ right now, okay? This is about _us_!”

“Yeah, well I thought making out in your car that night was about _us_. That’s where _my_ head was, and yours was …”

“I’m _sorry!”_

“It’s … I swear sometimes it’s like you don’t even see _me_ anymore. You don’t think I’m …” she pauses. This is all so personal, so … and anyway, it’s not about that, she thinks. It’s about all the other girls. “God knows how many girls you’ve been with this time; I mean it’s been a couple of weeks not the usual couple of days so it could be dozens!”  
“No one! Alright? _No one! I swear!”_

He does get it; why she keeps going back to this. He does. He knows repeated instances of him screwing around on her must make her doubt him. He doesn’t know how to convince her it’s been different this time.

“That’s what Haley said,” she almost whispers, “but …”  
“I get that you find it hard to believe, but it’s true,” he insists before he has an uncomfortable thought. A very uncomfortable thought that makes him feel likes he’s just taken an elbow to the guts. “Can you say the same thing?”

“What?”  
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Lucas. Everyone can see he’s totally crushed out on you.”  
“What _is_ it with you people? I’m not sleeping with him. Nathan! You know …”

“I know _what?_ I feel like I don’t know _anything_ right now,” he declares, throwing his hands up.

“You _know_ there’s only been you,” she says softly, her big green eyes catching his.  
“Still?” he asks needing to hear it again. But that one word conveys relief, gratitude, pride. He hears it himself, but he doesn’t care if he looks weak. She’s _his_.

“Yeah. Still.”  
“Babe, I … please … just give me …”  
“Tonight. Just … we need to get back to the party. Your Dad will be doing his usual stupid speech soon and some suck up will do their big _thanks so much Dan_ spiel and …”

“Tonight. Promise?”  
“Yeah. I do.”

 

 

Only a few minutes after they leave his room, head downstairs, outside and part, with her hand grazing his for just a second as they do so, her best friend sidles up to him.

“Hey, Hotshot.”  
“Brooke.”

“When’s your Dad doing his boring old speech?”

“Look, I don’t know,” he mutters, going to push past her but finding her fingers locking on to his wrist. “Could you just excuse me?”

“Well, I was gonna say,” she murmurs, her thumb stroking the inside of his wrist, “if you wanted, we could go back to my place after this. Take my jacuzzi for a spin?”  
“That sounds … not very tempting, Brooke.”

“We’d have a naked me in a jacuzzi!”

“Are you _drunk?_ Like I said. Not so much. Besides …” he says nodding towards Peyton, who is now standing near the driveway.

“Well, I would suggest a threesome, but I think the person _you_ have in mind is planning on getting together with your brother,” Brooke says snarkily, agitating more than a little.

Nathan looks over at Peyton, who has been joined by Lucas and is chatting animatedly to him. He watches her expressive hands for a moment then eyes Brooke sceptically.

“What are you playing at, Brooke?” he asks suspiciously as he pulls his wrist from her grasp and walks away towards the driveway hoop, where a bunch of guys are shooting around. He inserts himself into the game and is dunking within moments. As he lands, he looks over to Peyton, looking for the flash of approval in those green eyes, but she’s laughing at something Lucas has said and doesn’t see his impressive effort.

“Haven’t seen you much today,” Peyton says to Lucas when she stops laughing.

“Yeah, I know … look,” he says a little nervously, but visibly deciding to screw up his courage, “I wanted to ask you about something Brooke said.”

“Listen up, everybody,” comes said brunette’s raspy voice from behind them. “It’s time to play truth or dare. Or maybe just dare, ‘cause,” she looks directly at Nathan then at Peyton, her eyes narrowing dangerously, “nobody really tells the truth anymore. Let’s see … Theresa, I dare you … to go pinch Whitey’s ass.”  
Loud laughter follows, and Theresa thinks for a moment before she rises to her cheer captain’s challenge.

“Be right back!”

“Let’s see …” Brooke continues as Theresa disappears around the corner of the house. “Peyton?”

“Brooke, come on,” she protests with a nervous feeling mounting.

“I dare you to show us how you really feel. Kiss Lucas.”

Peyton looks at her friend, then at the blonde Scott standing next to her. He’s blushing a little and she thinks that’s awfully sweet. But she still wonders why Brooke is so keenly pushing her towards Lucas, even after the conversations they’ve had earlier in the week, and again today. She feels her gaze drawn to Nathan, who’s standing back behind Brooke, watching her with a cryptic look on his face. She closes her eyes, hearing his voice.

_I miss you, Peyton_

_I don’t want this for us_

_I don’t want to lose you_

_I’ll be better_

_We’re supposed to be_

_I miss you, Peyton_

_I miss you, Peyton_

And she realises, suddenly, that in all the bust ups over the last few months, he’s _never_ said that before. He’s never come to her and admitted that; that he _missed_ her. It’s always been _you’ll be back_ or _try and find someone that turns you on as much as I do_ , or _I’m sorry, okay,_ _I didn’t mean to but you were being a bitch_. It’s never been _I miss you, Peyton_.

She opens her eyes and finds he’s still staring at her. His dark blue eyes boring into her green. And a rush of longing washes over her. And she _does_ remember the day at Wrightsville Beach that he mentioned when he came to her room. It was amazing. And they had so many other amazing days in the first year, more, that they were dating. It’s just the last few months. And she knows it’s Dan being a crazed hovering father that does nothing but exert too much pressure on his son, _one_ of his sons, as he gets closer and closer to being seen by college scouts, and Deb being absent, and Nathan really having no one to talk to because God knows, she, Peyton, has been kind of withdrawn and remote, _very_ withdrawn really, from him, from most people, lately.

“C’mon P.,” her best friend’s singsong voice cuts into her thoughts, issuing a new version of the challenge. “Kiss your favourite Scott boy.”

Peyton looks at Brooke and notices, suddenly, that Brooke’s elegantly stiletto clad left foot is pointing directly at Nathan, and it all falls into place. The two of them have been out together a lot, and Brooke Penelope Davis has a tell, that she doesn’t even know about herself. But it’s one that’s kept them from talking to (flirting with!) the same boy a number of times without Brooke even being aware of it. Her left foot points to the boy she’s about to target. And when it happens in a bar, at a club, at a party, to avoid any drama, Peyton talks to someone else. When it’s happening here and now, it all suddenly makes sense. _That’s_ why Brooke’s being pushing Peyton towards Lucas. Brooke wants Nathan! Wait. _Brooke_? Wants _Nathan_?

Peyton looks at Lucas again and sees the hope he’s trying to hide. She doesn’t know why she feels like she knows him, and she certainly doesn’t know how she’s worked out that he’s really just hiding behind his infatuation for her. He is so in love with Haley that it’s ridiculous. And no one can see it. Except maybe Karen. And Keith. Lucas, smart as he is, certainly can’t see it himself.

She meets Lucas’ blue eyes again and smiles a tiny smile then looks back at Nathan. Her boyfriend, and she really has never stopped thinking of him as her boyfriend, shoves his right hand into his pocket in what looks like an uncharacteristically unconfident move. Just when she’s thinking it’s more of a Lucas posture, Nathan looks her straight in the eye then pulls his hand out of his pocket. He holds his hand up, palm towards her, to reveal her necklace, chain twisted about his fingers and the silver pendant resting against his palm. She knows his mind is right back there, at the night when he gave it to her.

He’s a lot of things; Nathan Scott. He can be sweeter than anyone else would know, but he’s not one for public declarations. He’s never said how he feels in front of anyone else; she thinks maybe he never will. But the night he gave her that necklace, on their one-year anniversary, he told _her_. And she knows he’s telling her again now. He’s telling her, wordlessly, that he meant it; wanting it to be different, wanting to be better, wanting to be like they used to be. For her. Not wanting this awful rut that they’d got themselves into. She looks from the pendant to his eyes again and sees it all there; everything he doesn’t have the words for. And it’s okay, because most of the time she doesn’t have the words either. She flashes her eyes at him in a way that only he will recognise, and he nods almost imperceptibly back.

She turns and steps towards Lucas, placing her right hand on his left cheek. She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him on the other cheek. “You’re amazing, Lucas” she says quietly. “And I know you think I’m the girl for you, but the girl you really love is a lot closer than you think.”

She steps away and flashes him a smile that is nothing short of radiant then turns and walks purposefully towards Nathan. “Nice try, Brooke,” she says as an aside to her friend as she passes her. “Better luck next time.”

She doesn’t even stop to take a breath in front of Nathan; she just walks straight into his arms and pulls his mouth down to hers. She doesn’t hear the whistles and the catcalls, the _get a rooms_ , and the slow clapping from the guys on the team. All she feels is his hands on her hips pulling them into his own, his hair between her fingers, his lips parting hers, his tongue behind her teeth, his breath mingling with hers. She doesn’t care that her best friend just tried to manoeuvre them apart. She doesn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks about their relationship. She doesn’t care that it’s been a mess for the last few months. They’re going to work it out. His arms are meant to be around her. Her arms are meant to be around him. He _missed_ her. And dammit, she missed him right back.

It's intense. She has no idea how long they stand there lost in each other. When they eventually break apart, there’s no one else around, and Dan is standing not too far away, with the usual lecherous, pervy grin he sports when he interrupts them, telling Nathan he needs his help inside.

“Come and find me later,” she tells him, drawing her flattened palm down his chest.

He pulls her in for a quick peck and murmurs near her ear.

“Or … find you later and come?” he quips suggestively.

“Don’t push your luck,” she fires back with a wink, making him laugh. God, the _relief._

She needs some space and air, she decides and finds her way to the old swing set out the back, where she just … sits and lets her mind go.

“Hi,” a voice says sometime later, as a lanky figure drops into the swing next to her.  
“Lucas. Hi. I’m … I’m sorry about before,” she says a little awkwardly.

“It’s okay. You kind of got cornered there.”  
“Yeah.”  
“What _was_ that?” he asks in complete confusion, the machinations of cheerleaders being completely beyond him.  
“Um. I’m pretty sure that was Brooke trying to get me out of the way,” she replies, still more than a little off balance over it herself.  
“What do you mean? Oh …” he says, eyes wide, as he thinks about the weird conversation he had with Brooke, or rather that she had with him, in English, and the penny drops. “You think she was trying to pawn you off on me so she could make a play for Nathan?”  
“That’s a little strong. She … she probably really believes it’s what I want,” she says, hoping she believes that herself. “She’s not … malicious. Usually. She just ... Brooke’s my best friend and I love her to death, I really do. But ... she’s used to getting what she wants and she’s kind of brilliant at creating a scenario that makes what _she_ wants seem to be the right thing for everyone. If that makes sense?”  
“And she thinks that what’s right for _her_ is Nathan or that what’s right for _you_ is me?” he asks with a crooked brow.

“Lucas …” she sighs.

“No. I’m … tell me what would make her think that,” he insists. “That last one, I mean.”  
“She ... well, everyone really … they kind of thought that you and I had a thing.”  
“A thing?”  
“Connection? ‘Cos we’re a lot alike. And I guess ‘cos you …”  
“I?”  
“Lucas. Don’t make me …”  
“It’s okay,” he grins good-naturedly but wrily, shaking his head a little. “I guess I haven’t exactly been … subtle.”

“I’m sorry. I … I really do think you’re amazing,” she says, catching his eye then looking away again. “Do you … do you think we can be friends?”  
“Do you?” he counters.

“I’d like to, Luke. I really would.”

“I may not have any choice, seeing as though you completely ‘friendzoned’ me with that kiss on the cheek,” he says drily.

“Well,” she shrugs, “that puts you ahead of Tim. And Vegas. And … most of the basketball team. All of the team, actually. Except one.”

“Good to know,” he smiles genuinely. Him? Lucas Scott, River Court kid. Friends with one of the most popular girls in school?  It all still feels terribly unreal. “There is one small problem though,” he continues.  
“What’s that?”

“You really think you can get over this terrible crush you’ve had for years, where you watch me from afar and ogle my legs?”  
“Oh my god!” she says, whacking his arm. And yet, she’s kind of … _very_ … impressed that he can make fun of himself like that.

They smile, both a little embarrassed.

“Really?” she asks, turning to look at him. “Years?”

He shrugs.

“Now I feel really bad,” she murmurs.

“Why? It’s not like you can help it. You know, being all gorgeous and everything,” he laughs.  
“Luke!” she protests, though she’s laughing along with him.

“I really like it when you call me Luke. No one else does. Except Hales.”  
“I feel bad because … Well, because I didn’t _know_. I didn’t know _you_. You were just … not on the radar, you know? And I’m sorry for that. I think I’ve missed out on some amazing friends and great times by not looking outside my clique-y little world. You. Haley. What’s that other guy’s name? With the shaved head?”  
“Skills?”  
“Yeah. He’s awesome. He’s so funny! And that guy Mouth? He’s such a sweetheart.”  
“Yeah. They’re a good bunch. So … you think we can give this friends thing a go? Even though your boyfriend hates me?”  
“He’ll come around, Luke. He’s already starting to even though he doesn’t quite know it himself and … I’ll work on it. He just needs to see that you’re both in the same boat really.”  
Lucas looks back at the house then to her, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he says drily. “It’s just that mine is a little rowboat and his is a million-dollar yacht.”

She puts her hand on his forearm in gentle protest.

“And honestly? You have the better deal,” she says with conviction.

“How’d you figure that?”

“I know I’ve only met them a couple times but from where I stand … you have the world’s best Mom. Nathan has an absentee semi-drunk. Keith may be your uncle rather than your biological father, but he supports you and backs you and loves you. Nathan has a bullying tyrant who will never, _ever_ tell him he’s good enough as he is.”

“Is he? Nathan, I mean. Is he good enough as he is? For you?” His clear blue eyes search hers, but she raises her hand a little in protest.

“That’s not really any of your business, Lucas.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just …”

“You know what? I know everyone thinks we’re a mess. And Nate just laughs it off and says yeah, but we’re a hot mess. But … he used to be different, you know? And _we_ used to be different. And I think this time we have a shot at getting back to how we were. And I have to try. I just … I have to.”  
“Why?”  
“Because as bizarre as it may seem to you,” she says, her eyes wide and green and sincere, “I love him. And he loves me.”

“He has a funny way of showing it sometimes.”

“What do you really want to say, Lucas?” she bites back defensively.  
“I …”

“You _what_? _You_ wouldn’t treat me like that?”

He blushes darkly.

“I know you wouldn’t,” she says, standing up, “but the thing is, you only know part of me so far. You know the artsy, music-freak cheerleader and you’ve put me on this pedestal and I’m _not_ that girl. And if we … trust me, when you realised that I’m not that perfect girl, you wouldn’t know what to do with me. When I rave and rant and throw things, you couldn’t deal with that. Nathan can. And when I’m so drunk that I’m hurling, he can deal with that. And when I close myself off for days at a time, he knows there is absolutely no point trying to make me talk about it. I know that Nathan and I don’t make sense to you, but the thing is we make sense to _us_. We both have to have fire and we both have to have turbulence to drive us on and drive us forward. You don’t.”

“No? What do I need then Peyton Sawyer?” he asks, a little harshly. “After me being ... what was it? _On your radar_ for a few short weeks, what do you think I need?”

She smiles at him before she replies.

“You need honesty and certainty,” she says gently. “You need romantic nights in. You need passionate arguments about books and films with an intellectual equal. You need a deep, deep connection and an oasis of calm.”

“Wow,” he mutters, after a beat of stunned silence.

“Am I wrong?” she asks, knowing damn well she’s hit the nail on the head.  
“I wish I could say yes. Who are you? Some sort of witch?”  
“It’s the art thing,” she shrugs, “it makes me watch people.”

“You been watching anyone that fits that description?”  
“Moving on from me already, Scott?” she teases.

“I am if you can find that girl for me, yeah,” he teases back. “In fact, what did you mean before? About … about the girl for me being closer …”

“Um, hi …” comes a hesitant voice from behind them. It’s Haley, with her arms full of cake boxes.

“Hey Lucas,” she says, looking at the boy she’s known since grade school. “Your Mom called. There was a dessert emergency.”

Peyton looks at Lucas, to Haley and then back and smiles knowingly.

“What?” he asks the lean blonde, as he stands and goes to help Haley with the boxes.

“You’ll work it out,” she says then walks up the rise towards the house where Dan Scott is standing, arms folded.

“Miss Sawyer,” he smirks. “One Scott not enough for you?”

“Dad? Shut the fuck up,” comes Nathan’s voice from behind him before she can summon up a reply that is her usual for Dan Scott; seemingly polite but cutting underneath to those in the know.

“Don’t speak to me like that, son,” he warns, turning to look at Nathan.

“Well, then don’t speak to my girlfriend like that, _Dad_ ,” he responds, reaching for Peyton’s hand and pulling her into his side, standing tall against his father.

“Have you not seen the little tete a tete that’s been going on with …?” Dan begins.  
“With?” Nathan challenges, leaving Dan flummoxed for once. “C’mon, Dad. You can say it,” he pushes with a knowing look. “With my _brother_ , right?”

“Look, son … you want to watch this one,” he beings, nodding his head towards Peyton. “She’s just like your mother.”  
“Mom is the way she is because of you,” Nathan counters. “I’m not you. Or I’m not going to be. Not anymore.”  
“Miss Sawyer is …”  
“Don’t say it, Dad,” Nathan warns. “Whatever you’re about to say, just _don’t_ alright? You want to accuse anyone of fooling around, or cheating, or being a prize dick, you accuse me, ‘cos I’m the one that’s done all of that, not her. And if you want to talk about treating people badly, then let’s talk about you and Karen Roe and Lucas.”

He stands and eyeballs his father, challenging his father to retaliate, but for once, Dan Scott is silent.

“Yeah,” Nathan says, nodding his head. “Not a lot you can say to that, right? Just so you know, things are gonna be different from now on.” He looks sideways at Peyton, then back to his father. “In a lot of ways,” he adds. “And part of that _might_ mean me getting to know my brother, whether you like it or not.”

He walks away from his father, pulling Peyton with him, but she’s called by Theresa and she slips away from him, throwing an approving wink his way as she goes.

When he finds himself in the kitchen a few minutes later, he’s surprised to see Haley there, and they chat easily for a few minutes while she places cake, cheesecake, fruit flan and something he doesn’t recognise on serving plates, cutting them all into serving sized slices efficiently and, he notes, perfectly symmetrically.

“So,” she says after a few minutes, “have you talked to Peyton?”  
He nods, grinning, maybe even blushing just a little.

“Oh,” she teases, “a _good_ conversation, then?”

“We’re good,” he nods. “And we’re going to be even better.”  
“I hope so,” she says, moving to rinse the large cook’s knife before she starts on the next dessert.

“What does that mean?” he asks suspiciously.

“What? Nothing!” she looks at him. “Why? What’s bugging you?”

He shrugs, but she’s come to know him a little and something is clearly bothering him. She raises an eyebrow and points her knife at him in mock threat. “C’mon,” she teases him, “tell your tutor. Maybe I can even help.”

“Well, you _are_ his best friend,” he says quickly. Too quickly. He didn’t think about what he was saying, and he immediately regrets it.

“What’s Lucas got to do with this?” she asks cautiously, knowing exactly who Nathan is referring to.

“Nothing,” he answers tersely.

“Nathan …”  
“She … Peyton … she kind of had a condition.”  
“Threesome?” she quips, then covers her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide, not believing she just said that. He laughs, at her reaction to her own comment, rather than the comment itself, and can’t help but compare Haley’s impulsive quip with Brooke’s cynical comment.

“No. Thank God! She … wants me to give him a shot,” he realises the double meaning there and corrects himself. “A chance. Well, both I guess.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” she asks tentatively. “I know you don’t like the word but you two are …”  
He stops her by putting his hand up.

“He’s … he … I mean, he’s totally crushed out on her and …” he stops when he sees a flicker of something in Haley’s eyes.

“Look,” she says, “you must know that whenever you and Peyton are fighting, other guys hit on her.”

He frowns. Yeah. He knows. He’s never felt threatened by that, more like flattered that the other guys find his girl so attractive, but he still doesn’t like to think about it. More so lately.

“Does that bother you?” she asks.

“No,” he replies, considering it mainly true.  
“Why not? Most guys would be pissed, wouldn’t they?”

“I know they don’t have an iceberg’s chance in hell with her,” he shrugs. “And besides, if they did anything, I’d beat their asses. And they know it. They only try so they’re seen to be trying.”

“Ohmigod,” she mutters, shaking her head. “That’s ridiculous. And just a bit Neanderthal.”

“Maybe. But she’s the hottest girl in school,” he says. Then smiles to himself at a memory. “ _And_ the most beautiful.”  
She returns that smile, also remembering their conversation.

“Okay,” she says, “so I still think that’s _ridiculous_ behaviour, but the question is, why it bothers you if Lucas _does_ think of her that way? If it doesn’t bother you that anyone else does?”  
He opens his mouth, then closes it, staring at her without speaking for several long seconds. He doesn’t know. Is it something to do with that shared blood or not?  Shouldn’t brothers … God, he’d just thought that word without wanting to punch a wall … brothers should have each other’s backs, right? They don’t have each other’s _girls._ This is too ...

“Maybe,” Haley continues, seeing his mental paralysis, “maybe it bothers you when it’s Lucas because he _could_ have a shot with her?”

“Maybe it’s just because he’s not afraid of me,” Nathan retaliates quickly, then looks somewhat shocked at his own words.

Haley nods, then makes a point of turning to look at the next dessert and to start cutting so that he can consider his words without being watched.

“Maybe it’s both,” she says gently, still not looking back at him.

“What?”  
“He’s _not_ afraid of you,” she agrees, focussing on making more even cuts, “and maybe that’s part of why you think he _could_ have had a shot with her. Or maybe it’s that _you_ were never afraid before, and now you’ve had a taste of it.”  
“I’m not scared of him!” he retorts defensively.

“No,” she smiles, “but you _were_ scared of _losing her_ , weren’t you? Maybe, for the first time, you really were afraid she wouldn’t come back, and you thought it was partly to do with him … that there was, potentially, a real, viable alternative to Nathan Scott for Peyton Sawyer.”

He’s sullenly quiet for a while. Eventually she washes the knife, then stands, her back against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest.

“So,” she says, “you have her back. And you seem to want to keep her this time.”  
He looks at her with interest. Where is she going with this?

“So, if he’s _not_ a threat … if all you have to do is be a decent guy and you’ll keep her, then maybe you have no reason to _not_ to give him a shot? Not just for her, but for _you_ too?”

He studies her wordlessly for a long moment.

“What?” she asks eventually.  
“I think they call that entrapment, don’t they?” he concedes with a wry smile, making her tip her head back and laugh loudly.

“I think I understand why it’s hard for you, Nathan,” she says gently when their laughter dies, “but he is a really good guy. And he is a really good player, too. So … maybe giving him a shot could be a win-win?”

“Maybe,” he concedes, though she’s encouraged that his tone is not as begrudging as it might have been.  
“And on that note, grab a plate, Nate,” she jokes.

“Do I look like a waiter?”  
She shrugs and chuckles. “You _waited_ for Peyton this time, didn’t you?”

“I don’t think I like you anymore,” he grumbles, taking the plate that she passes him and heading out with her towards the table where the desserts and coffee are to be served. Just as he’s walking away from the table, after briefly touching Haley’s shoulder and confirming the time of their next tutoring session, Brooke passes him coming the other way.

“Oh look, it’s the teacher’s pet,” she mutters.

“What?”  
“Or should I say tutor’s pet? Or is that … petting with the tutor?”

“Brooke …” he warns.

“Bet you didn’t tell Peyton about it,” she says slyly.  
“About what?” he asks, trying to work out exactly what she knows.  
“I saw you, Nathan,” she accuses. “I saw you kissing Helen.”  
“Haley.”  
“Whoever. And that’s just the point, right? It doesn’t matter _who_. As long as you’re getting it from somewhere,” she snipes bitterly.  
“Shut up, Brooke. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I _know_ within hours … _minutes_ of a fight with Peyton, you’re on the make with someone else. This time it was that girl. I _know_ Peyton doesn’t know. And I _know_ she’d have made a different decision this time if she _did_ know. And I think she _should_ know. In fact, maybe I’ll …”  
“ _I’ll_ tell her!” he says firmly.  
“Well, _that’s_ new,” she observes cattily. “Usually you’re trying to cover your ass by lying about your wee … _flings_.”  
“It wasn’t a fling. It was … forget it, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I _understand_ , Nathan Scott. For some reason you’ve managed to weasel your way back in again, but …”

“But what, Brooke? Why are you obsessing about this? It’s none of your business.”  
“She’s my best friend,” she trots out formulaically.  
“Yeah. Right. That why you were pushing her towards Lucas so hard? Why you were so determined that she not listen to me? Or are you just pissed that I want her and not you, what was it … _naked in your hot tub_?”  
“I …”  
“I _am_ going to tell her about Haley. It was just a moment. It was part of something else. I am going to tell Peyt and explain it.”  
“When?” she asks in a way that make him distrust her even more.  
“Soon. I just … really soon.”

_I just need things to settle for a bit, but I don’t trust you Brooke Davis. Not one little bit._

By the time the party’s all but over and there’s just a few last parental stragglers hovering around the bar, the entire team has left, along with the cheerleaders, and the other hangers on; all of them except Nathan, because Dan’s told him under no circumstances is he to leave the house tonight, and Peyton, because, well because she’s pretty sure everyone was kicking on to Brooke’s place and she really didn’t want to be there until she figured out what her _best friend_ had been up to these last couple of weeks. Plus, she got a lift with Brooke, so now she’s stranded, unless she wants to walk home, and Nathan almost always drinks too much to give her a lift, and his Dad laid down the Dan Scott law earlier and banned him from leaving anyway so … here she is, vaguely gathering empties and stacking them on the kitchen counter.

She startles a little when his arms envelop her from behind and his breath tickles her neck.

“You don’t need to clean up,” he mumbles into her skin. “There’s caterers. They’re just having a break before they tackle the mess.”

“I know. I’m just … killing time, I s’pose,” she replies as she tilts her head to the side so he can kiss up her neck.

“Kill time with me,” he says, turning her round, dropping his hands to her hips and pushing her up against the counter.

“Nathan …”  
“Mmmmm?” he moans against her mouth as he plunges his tongue into it.

Something’s different, she thinks, a tiny frown forming. His hands slip past each other around her back and he folds his arms around her, pulling her hard against him while he backs off a little on the kiss; somehow making it both gentler and more intense. His lips drive her crazy; they always have, they still do and right now she thinks they always will. Then she realises what it is that’s different; he doesn’t taste like beer or tequila or … anything. He just tastes like him.

She pulls back and watches his eyelids open lazily.

“Are you …?” she begins.

“What?”  
“Are you _sober_?”

“Stone cold.”

He runs his fingertip across the little frown line between her eyebrows.

“Is that such a shock?” he chuckles.

“Um. Yes?”

That stops him, he’s about to protest and then he frowns himself.

“Fuck, you’re right. I haven’t been sober on a Friday night for …” he stops and looks at her, then leans forward and runs the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip.

“Huh,” he murmurs then does it again.  
“What?” she says trying, unsuccessfully, to hide the shiver that little lick sends down her spine.  
“ _You’re_ sober too,” he grins.

She rolls her eyes and shrugs.

“I’ve got a genius idea,” he says, moving his lips to her earlobe.

“What’s that?”  
“Sober sex.”

She laughs and slaps his arm playfully.

“Oh, I’m not joking,” he chides her, pulling back.

“What?”

“Seriously, babe. When was the last time we did it on a Friday night without being half, or totally, cut?”

Her mouth opens then closes; she’s totally torn. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want him; he’s still got one arm around her waist and he’s still holding her hips tightly against his and she can feel how much _he_ wants _her – that_ much was apparent within mere seconds of him starting to kiss her. But there’s a bit of her that’s still feeling a bit … fragile and confused and …

“Babe?”

She blinks at him uncertainly.

“I …” she begins but stops and something about the expression on her face reminds him of one she wore earlier, and something she said. He eases back a little.

“What did you mean earlier?” he asks, studying her intensely. “You said something about me not … seeing you?”

She shakes her head but he’s not letting her off the hook.

“Tell me,” he pushes.

“Nathan, I …”

“ _Tell_ me,” he insists intensely but not harshly. “What did you mean?”

“It’s … sometimes it’s like …”  
“Sometimes it’s like …?”  
“You don’t see _me_. Like I’m just any other girl, any other cheerleader fan girl.”

“You’re not just any other girl. You’re _my_ girl,” he says firmly.

“Not helping.”

“I … what do you want to hear then?”

“What do I want to _hear_?” she repeats, pulling his hands off her and stepping back. “It’s not about what I want to hear is it? It’s about what you think you need to say to talk me into bed!”

“Well, it’s been …”  
“Yeah! Seventeen days. I know.”

He can’t help but raise an eyebrow and grin at that.

“You’re …!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up and turning to walk out of the room. But he’s always been faster than her. He grabs her hand and pulls her back, pressing her against the counter again.

“Okay,” he says, holding her still so that she can’t move, but gently and firmly, reassuringly not aggressively, “let me try this again.”

“Nathan … just …”  
“No! Let me try this again,” he insists.

She sighs and rolls her eyes and is a little surprised when he rests his forehead against hers. He hasn’t done that in a long, long time. When he starts talking his eyes are closed, and his words come slowly, hesitantly.

“I’m a dick, okay? I … I’m not very good at … explaining what I think, or … um … feel. But I’ll try, okay?”

His eyes are still closed but she nods a little against his forehead and waits. He takes a couple of breaths, then swallows, and somehow, she finds her hand moving to rest above his heart.

“I see you,” he says quietly, as if that hand has somehow given him courage. “I do. What I see is that you get more fucking gorgeous every single day. Sometimes …”  
He swallows again, the words evading him.

“Sometimes?” she prompts in a whisper.

“Sometimes when I see you like … walk around a corner at school, or when you open my car door and jump in and start raving about some song I don’t even know, or when you … walk out of the bathroom wrapped up in a towel … you … it … hurts my _head_ sometimes, thinking about how gorgeous you are.”  
“Nathan,” she breathes, feeling like she might cry. He … he doesn’t do this. He doesn’t lay himself open like that.  
“No. I’m not done,” he continues, resting his fingertips on her lips for moment to stop her so he can continue.

“I know you don’t care about your looks, okay? I know you don’t care about how sexy you are. I know you want people to get how you _think_ , even though you don’t tell them the stuff they need to help them do that, and I … I stopped trying to work that out, and I shouldn’t have. But I _will_ do it again. Because I _do_ see you. You _are_ different to all the others. You’re beautiful and you’re sexy and you’re just … you drive me _crazy_ and I just want you _all_ the time. But I don’t want _just_ that. I _don’t.”_

“I’m … different?”

“You’re different,” he says firmly, almost harshly. “You’re … intense. And a stroppy bitch. And …”  
“Hey!”  
“And complicated,” he presses on. “And maddening. And sometimes I really, _really_ don’t understand you. _At. All._ But no one ever makes my brain freeze like you do. And no one ever makes my throat clamp shut. And no one else makes me so … so frustrated and angry. And no one else can make my stomach churn. But no one else ever feels as _right_ as you do. And I don’t wake up craving anyone else. And I don’t …”

He stops. He has to. Because she’s kissing him. Hard. Pressing herself against him from hip to chest and holding the back of his head and filling his mouth with heat and … then there’s cold air between them.

“Huh?” he breathes.

She turns out of his arms, takes his hand and leads him out of the kitchen. He realises, vaguely, as they leave the room that his father is standing in the other doorway. Fucking creep.

“Do _not_ leave this house, Nathan!” Dan yells.

He shoots his father a daggered look then turns his back, closes the gap between Peyton and himself and presses into her from behind as she leads him to climb the stairs. She laughs at him, the musical sound replacing his father’s voice in his head, pushes him into his room, closes the door, locks it, steps towards him, places her palms flat on his chest.

“What was the rest of that sentence going to be?”

He shakes his head a little. He has no idea where he was when she stopped his words with that incredible kiss.

“You don’t wake up craving anyone else and you don’t …?”

He looks down, looks a little … flummoxed. She’s about to touch him when he stops her, take her hands, entwines their fingers, drops the softest of kisses on her mouth then meets her eyes boldly. There was something strangely … liberating about saying those things to her in the kitchen; things that have been in his head for days. And he certainly doesn’t mind the lustful look she gave him as a result, and is giving him again right now, either.

“And I don’t ever… I know that I have fucked around on you way, way too much. And I know even once is too much. But … I have never, _ever_ thought of anyone else when I’ve been … with you … when I’ve been … _in_ you …” he stops. God, is this … too much?

“Go on,” she breathes huskily. Not too much, then.  
“I … it’s …” he pauses again.  
“I don’t care if it’s …”  
“Dirty,” he supplies.

“Intimate,” she substitutes.

“It is.”  
“Tell me,” she challenges, looking at him brazenly. “You never think of anyone else when you’re … inside me?”  
Fuck, she’s amazing when she’s bold like that. No. She’s amazing all the fucking time. And he just … opens up even more and tells her.

“… but I don’t know how many times I’ve had you in my head when I’ve been with someone else. I have never given a _fuck_ if any other girl comes first, or even if she does at all. But any … time I ever think about … sex, any time I ever … fantasise … it’s you. Your eyes, your mouth, your legs, your ass, your thighs, your chest, your laugh, your hair, your smell, your … your voice being all gaspy in my ear. So just … don’t … _don’t_ ever think I don’t see you. ‘Cos I see you fucking _everywhere_. Fuck! You’re crying. Why are you …?”

She tilts her head back and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“I … God, too crude,” he mumbles, “too much … I …”

“No!” she denies. “Just … crude enough,” biting her bottom lip, making his stomach tighten and his heart thump.

“Babe …” he groans.

“You think … about me?” she asks quietly, a blush creeping over her cheeks. _Fuck_ , she’s gorgeous.

“I _fantasise_ about you,” he corrects. “Constantly.”

“Right now?” she challenges, tilting her hips into his a little, provoking an answering flash and darkening of his eyes, making him inhale harshly.

“Do you want me to take off my dress, Nathan?” she asks with both palms flat on his chest.

“No.”

“No?”

“ _I_ want to take off your dress.”

“And?”

“And I bet you’re wearing black lace underneath.”

“What makes you say that?” she asks, pressing her hips into him again, then retreating, making him groan.  
“You know it’s my favourite. The ones that leave half your ass bare. And no bra, but I know _that_ already.”

“Why would I choose your favourite?” she teases, ignoring, or trying to ignore, the fact that he’s clearly been eyeing her closely enough to figure out the no bra thing.

“Because this is … you are _my_ fantasy,” he says, his voice turning low and gravelly, as if the air wasn’t charged enough.

She steps towards him and turns, presenting him with her zipper, which he lowers slowly, trailing his lips down her spine, slipping it over her slim hips, revealing that predicted black lace. He drops the fabric of her dress then runs his palms over the lace that finishes partway down her softly rounded flesh.

“You have got _the_ best ass,” he mutters as he watches his own hands cup her, then pushes his hips against her, leaving her in absolutely no doubt as to how much this fantasy is fuelling him.

“What’s next?” she breathes, leaning back against his chest, pressing her backside back into his hips, feeling his mouth by her ear. “Removing your _favourite_ black lace?”

“No.”  
“No?”

His left hand moves up to tease her nipple while his right-hand travels slowly around to the point of her hip bone, his fingertips tracing the line of the lace, goose bumps following after them across her skin, then slipping his fingers down inside the lace to press into her just a little.

“Next,” he smiles into her neck, “is that you stay right there, in your sexy, sexy black lace and I use my very talented fingers to make your knees give way.”

“Oh God,” she sighs as two of his fingers slip into her.

“And _then_ ,” he continues, as he begins to slowly, _exquisitely slowly_ , pump them, “once you’ve come really, _really_ hard - which I think is going to take not very long _at all_ judging by how fast your heart’s racing and how your thighs are already shaking - I’m going to lay you down on my bed and I’m going to stare into those amazing green eyes of yours and soak up how you feel around me when you come again. And it’ll be long and slow, while I’m hard as a fucking rock inside you. And I’m going to hold out as long as I possibly can because I really don’t remember the last time that we did this sober, and I want it stamped into my brain and _burnt_ into yours … because you are mine, Peyton. You are all _mine_.”

 

 

It’s well after ten when she wakes up, his sheets a mess around her, and an empty space where he should be. She’s disappointed for a moment, but then who’s she kidding? He’s rarely there when she wakes. He’s almost always already out on the driveway, with Dan barking directions at him so loudly that she can hear his voice from where she is in Nathan’s room, _in_ _Nathan’s bed_. _Go left. Go left again. Ten free shots - now. No misses or you start again. Go right. Block me, Nathan. Block. Drive harder. Box out. Use your hips more, son._

She drags her hand through her hair and is thinking about getting up, when the door opens. She turns her face to see Nathan coming in, two steaming mugs in hand, shirtless, a towel wrapped tight around his hips. How can _that_ body be only just eighteen?

He stops for a second and just … looks at her. Doesn’t say a word. Just looks at her. Eventually smiles. A real, true, warm, slow smile. The kind he used to send her way.

“Hey,” she says, wriggling up to a semi-seated position, tucking the sheets around her bare chest.

“Hey,” he responds, placing the mugs on the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed, bumping her over a bit with his hips.

“You made me coffee?” she asks.

“You have really awesome powers of observation, you know that?” he teases lightly.

“Maybe so,” she chuckles. “But I don’t actually remember you ever doing that before.”

“That was the old Nathan,” he shrugs easily.

“The new and improved Nathan makes coffee?”

“The new and improved Nathan makes coffee,” he agrees. “And he also gets up super early so he can get the basketball shit with his father out of the way – I kicked his ass, by the way - and has the rest of the day free to do whatever his seriously hot girlfriend wants to do.”

“He does?”

“So … what do you want to do today?” he asks, leaning to place one hand on the mattress either side of her hips.  
“Um, drink my coffee then take you the doctor? ‘Cos, seriously? I think you’re ill.”

“Funny.”

“Maybe the CIA, then? I think I need to call in Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones; maybe your body’s been taken over by an alien life form?”

“Well, it makes sense that they would pick the best body so ...”  
“ _There’s_ my Nathan!” she says, her hand slapping his thigh lightly.

“Don’t you forget it, either,” he says, laying his hand on top of hers.  
“Forget what?”  
“Your Nathan. _Yours,”_ he says as firmly, even more decisively than when he referred to _her_ being _his_ last night. “Alright?”

“Okay.”

He picks up the mug again and passes it to her, leaning in to drop a kiss on her lips.

“So, what are we doing today?” he asks again.

“Weeeeellllll,” she draws out with a twinkling look in her eyes, “there’s an art show on in Wilmington …”  
“Really? O … kay …”

He’s doing his very best to look enthusiastic, he really is, but he’s totally transparent and she shakes her head, laughing, pulling her hand out from under his and patting his reassuringly.

“Relax. I’m not going to drag you to an art show.”  
“No! It’s … fine.”  
“Let’s just … go for a drive. See where we wind up. Maybe go for a walk if we find somewhere pretty?”  
“Sounds good. And tonight?”

“I dunno. Movie?”  
“And burgers and shakes at that little diner right down at the end of the pier?” he suggests thoughtfully.

“The little diner? That’s …”  
“Where we went for our first date. Yeah.”

“You remember?”

He rolls his eyes at her.

“Of course, I remember. I’m not a complete bozo. Now drink your coffee, then hit the shower.”

“Bossy!”

“I’ll never get you out the door otherwise. I’m boss ‘til at least after lunch,” he teases as he stands and goes to his dresser to pull out boxers and a T-shirt.  
“Oh really? So, I’m boss _after_ lunch?”  
“Maybe. Why?” he asks as he drops his towel and stands, naked, stretching his neck out. She doesn’t reply and when he looks at her to see why, he laughs.

“Stop ogling,” he says with a very proud note in his voice, stepping into his boxers.

“Mine to ogle,” she reminds him with an appreciative grin. “So, if I’m boss after lunch …?”  
“Uh-huh?” he prompts as he hauls his T-shirt over his head.  
“That must mean tonight’s _my_ fantasy?”

He chuckles, clambers on top of her, pretends to crush her a little, kisses her, then stands again, winks, and rips the sheets away.

“Nathan!”

“Shower. Now.”

“Meanie,” she says with a very cute little pout. “Come shower with me.”  
“I’m already clean.”  
“So?”

“Nope. If I do that, we’ll be in there forever having steamy shower sex and I want to get out of here before Dad ropes me into something.”

“You want me to be fast?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Hmmm,” she muses, her eyes sparkling a little.

“What?”  
“Just … building my fantasy for tonight.”  
“What?”  
“In the shower. Fast.”

“Peyton …”  
She leaps up and grabs his discarded towel, wrapping it round herself, stepping over to the dresser and opening the bottom drawer to pull out a pair of her own jeans and a Zeppelin T. When she stands, she finds he’s moved to be right behind her. He pulls her back into him for a second, places a kiss on her shoulder blade then reaches over that same shoulder, and picks up the little pile of silver on the dresser.

“Can I?” he murmurs near her ear as he allows the pendant and chain to unwind.

She nods, holding her breath while he gently places the necklace around her neck and closes the clasp. She turns in his arms and blinks back emotion when he leans down and kisses the pendant that now lies below the dip in her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes.

“For?”  
“Calling it a leash.”

“Thank you,” he says with a little nod, then turns her towards the bedroom door. “Shower,” he says, slapping her on the behind.

She opens the bedroom door and heads out, then ducks her head back in and grins.

“And tonight,” she says with a thoughtful look on her beautiful face, “I’m thinking … maybe … those red stilettos.”

“Oh God.”

“Oh, hey Mr Scott,” he hears her say as she walks down the hallway. “Nathan said your workout was awesome this morning. Something about kicking ass, right?”  
Nathan laughs to himself. Shit, she’s amazing.

  


She doesn’t ‘drag’ him to the art show, but they do end up in Wilmington. They giggle and laugh their way around the Museum of the Bizarre, both observing that it’s weird how, despite Wilmington being so close to their own tiny little town, they’d never really been there to do the touristy things.

She makes him pick the next destination, reminding him that he said he was boss until early afternoon, and he sheepishly tells her he’d always wanted to see the Battleship North Carolina, so they head there next and she takes a couple of really cute photos of him mucking about saluting her. He mumbles as they’re leaving that he could never serve in the forces, especially not the navy, and she presses him to tell her why. He rattles of a list of reasons; no respect for authority, too messy, might maybe possibly get a little or a lot seasick, too much of a coward, would miss her too much.

She laughs then pulls up and reaches out to stop him.

“What did you say?”

“That I’d miss you,” he chuckles.

“No – before that,” she presses, her fingers around his wrist, a concerned little frown marring her forehead.

“That I’d be too chicken to …”  
“Nathan,” she interrupts gently, raising her other hand to press against his chest, “you’re not a coward.”  
“Peyton …”  
“No!” she insists. “You’re one of the least cowardly people I know.”  
“I … what makes you say that?” he asks, genuinely baffled.

“The way you keep going with the mess your folks can be? The way you’re trying to face up to the Lucas thing? The way …”  
“The way what?”

“The way you put yourself out there … lately … for …”  
“For you?”

“Yeah,” she blushes, ducking her head down shyly.

He pulls her in and wraps his arms around her and tucks her under his chin and just holds her, no words, no kiss, no touch other than his strong arms around her. Eventually she wriggles back a bit and looks up at him, and he moves one hand to smooth her hair back and he leans in to put just one tiny little peck on her lips.

“Worth it,” he murmurs against her cheek. “You’re worth it.”

They cruise around downtown Wilmington on the trolley, then tackle a huge lunch and watch a talented busker while demolishing ice creams.

Around the middle of the afternoon, as they’re nearing his car, wordlessly deciding it’s time to head back to Tree Hill, he stops and gazes at her, his head cocked to one side.

“What?” she asks.  
“Were you serious?”

“About what?”  
“Those red stilettos.”  
She laughs and laughs, and he just stands there thinking how completely and utterly gorgeous she is when she’s relaxed like this.

He shakes his head and opens the car door for her, waits for her to be settled before he closes it again and lopes around the back of the car to his door. He smiles his thanks when he finds she’s leaned across to pop the door for him.

“Hey, Nate,” she says as he starts the car.

“Uh-huh?”

“Take me home and we’ll see how serious I was about those stilettos.”  
“You … what?” he asks breathlessly.

“Only if you don’t break the speed limit.”  
“Cruel,” he mutters at her.


	3. Back to Normal? Or not?

Monday after school, and there’s the usual surge of teenagers throwing gear _into_ lockers, removing gear _from_ lockers and generally getting sorted for an evening of homework, socialising, practice, and more catching up on the weekend’s and the day’s events. Most of the talk is still, unsurprisingly, around the fact that, after more than two weeks, their longest break yet, Scott and Sawyer are back on.

She’s one of the ones doing the gear swap in her locker and trying not to buy into the gossip all around her, when he walks up behind her, stands super close, lifts up her hair and kisses the side of her neck.

“You smell _insanely_ good today,” he murmurs.

“Whereas _you_ sound smug,” she retorts, turning around to smile lazily up at him.

“A little, maybe,” he replies, closing her locker door for her. “But seriously? Can you not hear the talk? It’s like the whole school was holding its breath along with me. And now …”

He stops, leans into her neck again and just rests his lips on her skin.   
“Now?” she laughs, pushing him back a little.

“Now,” he drawls, leaning in yet again, kissing her quickly, and leaving her wanting more. “Now, everything is right again. Everything is back to normal.”

She can’t help but laugh. And, to be honest, after the weekend they just had, she feels the same way. Like everything _is_ back to normal. But the _good_ version of normal. Like after months of being lost in the wilderness, they really are heading in the right direction again.

She tilts her head and finds her eyes drawn to his lips.

“You want me to kiss you again, don’t you?” he teases.

“You up for it, Scott?” she teases right back.

His reply is to grab her hip with his right hand and haul her into him, while his left hand flattens against the locker door above her.

“I guess that’s a …” she starts, but is cut off by his mouth taking hers in a kiss that has her recklessly dropping her books and wrapping her arms around his neck. It’s minutes before they come up for air. He winks, pecks her lips then bends to pick up her books.

“How sweet,” drawls Brooke sarcastically from behind them.

“Hey, Brooke,” Peyton grins. “How was your weekend?”

“You know, P. Sawyer. It’s nice to see you smiling after your big, blissed out _reunion_ on Friday night. And no doubt some serious _catching up_ over the weekend, or catching _something,_ at any rate,” she snipes, looking at Nathan and wrinkling her nose before continuing. “Not to mention a little Monday pm locker make out. But I’m really kinda surprised you took him back this time. I mean, after his kiss with Tutor-Girl and all. It’s not like she’s another random party slut; she’s a _good_ girl. That has to mean something.”

Peyton looks at her friend, puzzled. She doesn’t believe Brooke. Or she doesn’t _think_ she believes Brooke. She does think maybe they’ll have to hash out the Brooke pushing her towards Lucas so Brooke could take a run at Nathan thing, after all. But she, perhaps foolishly, doesn’t think anything of the comment, until she reaches for her books from Nathan and their eyes meet. Definitely foolishly.

 _She_ sees guilt. _He_ sees her eyes well with tears. He sees her mentally kick herself for believing it, _any_ of it. For believing _him_.

“You’re right,” she says to him, her voice shaking not with anger but with pure, unadulterated hurt. “Everything really is _back to normal_.”

She pushes past him and starts what seems like a very long walk towards the exit.

“Peyton!” he yells at the top of his voice. “Peyt! Stop!”

He knows she’ll just keep walking; that’s what she always does when he screws up. Well, sometimes she flips him a finger as well. But … not this time. Incredibly, she does stop. She turns and just stands, with people surging around her, with her big, green eyes locking onto his. She blinks slowly a couple of times, allows a tear to overflow and roll down. Doesn’t even lift a hand to wipe it away. Then turns back to her lonely walk. Except that it’s not lonely for more than few steps. As Nathan stands and watches, Lucas, a few lockers down, closes and locks his door, turns to throw Nathan a piercing, challenging look, then runs the few steps to catch her up.

The sight of his brother’s arm around her shoulders, comforting her, spurs Nathan into action. He spins around and hurls bitter words at Brooke, telling her she’s jealous and vindictive, and she can tell herself all she likes that she’s looking out for her friend, but he knows better. He knows that’s not what any of this is about and that she’s a pretty crappy best friend. He steps into her space, backs her up against Peyton’s locker, slams his palm into the metal over her shoulder and stares her down, telling her that she’s skating on incredibly thin ice. She opens her mouth to retort but his hand is palm side to her nose, just inches from it, hushing her, with his eyes flashing dangerously, then he turns on his heel and sprints.

When he gets to the carpark, he’s not surprised to see Peyton peeling out of the school exit at speed. He’s even less surprised to see Lucas sitting in the car with her. He’s very surprised though, to feel a tentative touch on his shoulder a minute later, and to turn around and see Haley standing there.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

“Haley. Um … I … did ...?”  
“I saw it all,” she confirms. “I think you might need my help.”

“Your help?”  
“She won’t even let you in the house right now, let alone listen to you.”

“She wouldn’t have to let me in,” he retorts, knowing even as he says it that it’s the least of his worries right now.

“You have a key?”  
“She leaves the front door unlocked most of the time.”  
“That’s safe,” she says drily. “Well … so I could get in then?”

“You? Why would ...?”

“You were trying to help me out with that … kiss, Nathan. In a very, very weird way, I must say, but you shouldn’t have to pay this big a price for that.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head, but kind of blown away by her offer. “I can’t …”  
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Tell me what you think is going on with Brooke Davis though so I’m prepared, and then give me Peyton’s address.”

He can’t believe he does it, but he tells Haley everything. In the school carpark, leaning against his car, he tells her exactly what Brooke Davis is up to. And why.

 

 

“So,” Lucas begins, when they’re in her room, and she’s in the closet, throwing clothes out madly trying to find her favourite pair of jeans because at moments like this, apparently, she _must_ wear her favourite pair of jeans while listening to a very specific album.

“So, what?” she yells.

“You want to talk about what happened back there?” he asks.

“Nope,” she says, reappearing in said jeans and a small tank top. A really _tiny_ tank top. With skinny little straps and short enough to leave inches of her stomach on display.

He can’t help it. His eyes rake over her and, when he meets her knowing gaze, he smiles in embarrassment. She _so_ caught him at it. She rolls her eyes and drags a huge, baggy hoodie on. One of Nathan’s, he assumes.

“Don’t add layers on my account,” he mumbles.

“Lucas!” she protests. “ _Don’t!_ Alright?”

“Sorry,” he replies, holding his hands up. “I just … you shouldn’t …”  
“Yeah, yeah,” she intones, “I shouldn’t be with someone that treats me like that.”

“Well, you _shouldn’t_!” he protests earnestly.

“Yeah. Maybe. I just …”

She stops, sighs, and takes a seat next to him on her bed.

“You just ...?”  
“After the weekend we just had, I thought … God! We had _such_ an amazing weekend,” she laments, dragging a hand through her hair, leaving it mussed and, in his view, amazingly sexy. He wonders if that’s what post-sex hair looks like, what _her_ post-sex, post-euphoria hair looks like and is thrown by a surge of jealousy that bites hard. _Nathan_ gets to see that. And look what he does with that privilege.  
“I really don’t think I want to hear this,” he groans wryly. She grins and whacks his arm.

“No! Not _that_! Well … yeah, _that,”_ she blushes. “But just … he was so sweet. He was like he used to be. I really thought we were …”  
“Well,” he says, not believing he is actually going to possibly, maybe just a little bit, defend the jerk. “You don’t know when this was. This … thing.” He can’t say it. He can’t say kiss. Not when it’s Nathan and his best friend. _His_ sweet Haley. “It might have been a while ago?”

“Maybe,” she concedes. “But … aarggh! I don’t want to even talk about it!”

She stands and holds her hand out to him to pull him upright. “You want coffee? And stale cookies?”

“Sounds like a real treat,” he replies drily, placing his hand in hers, hoping his skin doesn’t feel too warm or too cold to her, or God forbid, clammy or sweaty. He just about breaks into a sweat thinking about that. “Must get my Mom to add _stale cookies_ to the café menu.”

She’s stronger than she looks and pulls harder than he expects and he finds himself pressed up against her, his breath catching. He almost steps back, but then he looks down at her upturned face and her sad eyes pierce his heart. Before he even knows that he’s doing it, his hands are cupping her face and his lips are on hers. It’s really not the way he ever imagined his first real, non-cheek kiss with Peyton Sawyer (and he’s imagined an awful lot of first kisses with Peyton Sawyer), but it’s tender and sweet, and even if he does say so himself, it’s kind of magical. He takes it as a good sign, when she sighs just a little as they both pull back.  
He takes it as a bad sign when she smiles so very sadly and tells him that she thinks maybe she _could_ have given him her heart if she still had it, but the problem is that she gave it away the Summer before she was a Sophomore. And she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get it back. He drags his hand through that dirty blond hair, tells her maybe he’ll pass on the tempting offer of stale cookies this time, and then he’s gone.

 

 

Peyton couldn’t be more surprised when, a little while later, she comes out of her closet with just the right album in hand, to find Haley’s face peering tentatively round the bedroom door.

“Haley?”  
“Um. Hi!”

“What are you doing here?” Peyton asks as she removes the vinyl from its sleeve and steps to her turntable.  
“It’s nice to see you too, Peyton!” Haley replies with saccharine-sweet, bubbly over-enthusiasm “ _You_ , I might say, look just _lovely_ today!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Come on in. Take a seat.” Peyton looks at the random piles of stuff all over her bed. “Or _make_ a seat. Whatever.”

“Um. Can I talk to you?” Haley asks hesitantly after clearing a small space amongst the chaos on the bed, and perching there nervously. So … this is what a popular cheerleader’s bedroom looks like. Huh.

“I think you mean _may I_ ,” Peyton replies with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, that’s good; tutoring the tutor!” Haley laughs, then stops and looks at the blonde appraisingly. “You hide you light under a bushel in English, don’t you?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Peyton teases. “Oh … not that it’s in common usage in either place anymore really, but did you know in the US we mean a measure for dry goods when we say bushel, but in the UK,  it can mean dry good _or_ liquids?”

“I … I did _not_ know that,” her visitor blinks in surprise.

“Well, there you go. And you call yourself a tutor,” Peyton grins and wriggles her eyebrows at Haley. “Now why don’t you redeem yourself, and tell me something _I_ don’t know?”

“Okay,” Haley says, not quite believing she’s just had yet _another_ easy segue and rushing the words out before she changes her mind or chickens out completely. “I don’t know what Brooke was trying to do when she told you Nathan kissed me but she completely misunderstood, and therefore completely misrepresented, it.”

“So, he _did_ kiss you?” she asks, eyebrow raised and an inscrutable look on her face.

“You’re into art, right?”  
“Um … answer the question.”  
“I will. But in order for me to answer yours, you need to answer mine.”  
“Yes. I’m into art,” Peyton concedes reluctantly. “Your point?”  
“Soooooo, you understand how important _context_ is? Sometimes the _historical_ context?”

“Yeeees,” the blonde replies, imitating Haley’s drawn out vowel and making the tutor smile. She really does like Peyton’s sarcastic sense of humour; it’s smart and ironic, and, even when she makes fun of others, it’s gently and intelligently.

“So … at the risk of severely embarrassing myself, Nathan and I were having a conversation about me and … um … _someone else_ … and the fact that I kissed that someone else.”  
“Oh _really?_ And who might this mysterious someone else be?”  
“That doesn’t matter,” Haley answers with a dismissive wave. “And it was … a long time ago. And …”  
“First kiss, huh?” Peyton interrupts with a knowing grin.  
“What is it with you people!?” Haley exclaims, shocked. “Geeze Louise! Anyway, he … Nathan, I mean … was suggesting that this person that I … kissed … was _maybe_ , the one. And that I must know it was … you know …” Haley tapers off, shyly tucking her hair behind her ear.  
“No, I really don’t know, Haley James,” Peyton inserts into the gap.  
“That that kiss must have made me feel … different to any … um … subsequent kisses.”  
“Okay?”

“But …” Haley waves her hand in the air vaguely.  
“But?”

“You know, _Nathan_ didn’t need this many clues …” Haley whines in embarrassment.  
“Oh! He did that spooky figuring it all out thing he does?” she chuckles.  
“Yeah! What _is_ that?”  
“His off-court superpower,” the blonde shrugs. “So, what did he figure out?”  
“Um … that there weren’t actually, in fact, any …”  
“Oh … any subsequent kisses to compare the first one _to_?”

“Yes. That.”

“So, he what? Kissed you to up your tally?”

“He kissed me to prove a point,” Haley corrects gently, as if speaking to a kindergartner.  
“The point being?”  
“That even if a … um … I think he called himself a champion kisser?”  
“That’d be right,” Peyton says drily, rolling her eyes.  
“That even if a _champion_ kisser kissed me, I’d still prefer the other one.”

“And did you?”

“I _really_ did. Is that lame?”  
“It’s nice.”

“Actually, what’s nice is that _after_ that, he said he kind of wondered why he’d never looked outside the party, cheerleader kind of girl …”  
“Um … hello?” Peyton interrupts, hand flat against her chest and eyebrow raised in mock offence. “Party, cheerleader kind of girl, right here.”

“I hadn’t finished, _smartypants_.”

“Oh, please, go right ahead; insult me some more.”

“And I asked him why that was and he said a sarcastic, moody blonde had stopped him from looking anywhere else, really.”

“Not quite true.”  
“I think it will be if you …”  
“Did he ask you to do this?” Peyton interrupts, suddenly suspecting that Nathan has somehow managed to get Haley to do his dirty work.  
“No. I offered. I … I heard and saw Brooke and … I don’t know her or what she’s up to but …”  
“Yeah. So … he told you where I live?”  
“And that you leave the front door open. You know, that’s _really_ not safe.”  
“Whatever,” the blonde shrugs.

“Peyton,” Haley says very firmly, “why would you expect other people to value you if you don’t value yourself?”  
“Um, what?” she asks, her hackles rising.

“Keeping yourself safe physically is part of valuing yourself,” Haley explains. “If you value yourself, he’ll value you. Lead; he’ll follow.”

“I … I …” She’s gobsmacked. Why is it that when health ed teachers say things like that it sounds totally and utterly lame, but when Haley says it, it makes total and utter sense?  
“He’s at the River Court, by the way. And he really wants you to go and let him talk to you about this.”  
“That’s kind of ironic,” Peyton replies.

“How?”  
“Well, it’s kind of Lucas’ place, isn’t it? Your crowd’s place.”

“I think maybe we need to get past _our crowd_ and _your crowd_ , don’t you?”

“You think we can?” she asks, genuinely interested.  
“Hey look. Geek Tutor-Girl and Cheerleader Barbie are sitting here having a heart to heart after kissing each other’s guys. Anything’s possible, right?”

“One. Call me Barbie again and I’ll beat your ass, Haley James. Two. Kiss my guy again and I’ll break your face. And three. Lucas told you about the …? He like … only left a little while before you arrived.”

“Lucas tells me everything. And he’s not so good at waiting very long before he does it either. I also know about the kiss on the cheek at that party on Friday night … that’s kind of why I thought you’d get it if _I_ came and talked to you about the Nathan kiss. It was a totally harmless, totally ‘ _friendzone’_ kind of thing,” she smiles, knowingly using the same word Lucas had used to Peyton. Wow. He really did tell Haley _everything_. “I really don’t see how _anyone_ could interpret it as anything else.”

Anyone meaning Brooke Davis.

“Yeah?”  
“Peyton, I know I don’t know Nathan really well but … I’d like to. And that surprises the hell out of me because I so didn’t expect to like him _at all_. But, he’s a really great guy. He’s struggling with a lot of stuff …”  
“I know.”  
“But there’s one thing he really isn’t struggling with.”  
“And what’s that Oh Wise One?”  
“How he feels about _you_. He knows he’s made some big mistakes and he’s trying really hard to make it right because …”  
“Because?”  
“Because he really, _really_ loves you, Peyton. And I think maybe he’s only just realised that.”

“I dunno, Haley,” Peyton sighs. “He used to know it. Or I thought he did.”  
“Then maybe he’s realised it on a whole different level. Like … deep down in his gut, you know?”

Haley pauses and is clearly thinking something through. Peyton turns her back on the shorter girl for a moment and, having stood there holding it for the duration of this bizarre conversation, finally moves to put her album on, carefully dropping the needle back onto it.  
“Oh, I _love_ Marc Broussard,” Haley enthuses within the first couple of bars, then nonchalantly goes in with the killer question. “And this soul album is awesome! So if it used to be so great, when did it change?”

 

Peyton’s so stunned that Haley even recognises the voice in the air that she answers the question without even thinking, without getting her hackles up even a little bit.

“A few months back, I guess. It really was great for the first year. More.”

“So, what happened to make it change?”

“Nothing. He just … we just …” her guard starts creeping up but Haley pushes before her window closes.  
“It must have been _something_. If nothing happened to you two or with you, then maybe with his folks? Or … your Dad?”  
“No,” she replies., then considers briefly. “Well … he said something about his Mom the other day. But we turned to crap before that. And my Dad’s been going away for longer and longer trips so it’s not anything _he’s_ done.”

“Maybe … that’s it?” Haley suggests carefully.  
“What?”

“Your Dad being away? When did he start going away on longer trips?”

“When I turned seventeen, I guess. It was fun at first, you know, being trusted to be left alone. And not having anyone here to stop Nathan staying over and …”

“At first?”  
“What?”  
“You said fun _at first_.”

“Yeah. Nathan and I used to sit up and talk and talk and talk and make out for hours and ... well, you probably don’t want to know the rest.”

“When did it stop being fun?”  
“The making out? _That’s_ always fun. You should try it some time, Two Kiss Girl. _Not_ with Nathan.”  
“Oh, you’re just hilarious! No. I mean … your Dad being away so much. When did that stop being fun?”  
“What do you ...?”

“So, there’s this theory about step-parenting …”  
“What? How is this even remotely relevant?”

“Let me finish, missy,” she says, wiggling a finger at Peyton’s impatience. “There’s this theory that the age you are when a future step parent comes into your life, you have to take that many years again and that’s how long it takes you to truly accept them. So … a six-year-old meeting the person that became their step parent would be twelve to be really comfy with them, a ten-year-old wold be twenty.”  
“And? So?”  
“So, maybe it’s I dunno’ … comparable, or something. You were eight when your Mom died, right? And you said it used to be good with Nathan, so that’s when you were … sixteen? So maybe you were … coming to terms about your Mom, and … I mean … I _don’t_ mean that you were _happy_ about it, but you’d found a way to … just … be. And so, everything’s kind of okay; you have your Dad and your friends and school and things have become semi-normal and you’ve got this hot stud of a boyfriend, and then bam! You turn seventeen, and your other parent starts going away for long periods at a time and you’re alone again, and it throws you right back into that hard stuff and … you …”  
“And I what?”  
“ _You miss your Dad_ , Peyton. I think … could it be _that_ maybe that’s made you different? More withdrawn? More guarded? More …”  
“Bitchy?” she suggests with a sarcastic smile.

“I was going to say _prickly_ , but … look I don’t mean it’s your _fault_ ,” Haley rushes to explain. “Because it isn’t and Nathan says that himself. But maybe you’ve been a bit closed off to him too? Maybe you’ve pushed him away the way you push other people away, maybe you push him away even more because …”  
“Because why, Oprah?”  
“Because he matters more?” she suggests, biting nervously on the corner of a fingernail.

“How does someone who’s never had a boyfriend get the chops to play Dear Abby and hand out relationship advice, Haley James?”

The blonde’s hands are on her hips and her stance is slightly … assertive. But her eyes are twinkling and Haley’s coming to recognise that droll tone.

“I _know_ ,” she says back drily, moving her hands to her hips and mimicking Peyton’s stance, gently making fun of her. “The sheer audacity of some people!”

“I …”  
“I’m sorry, Peyton. I didn’t mean to overstep.”  
“No. It’s okay. You _did_ mean to overstep and you know what? It’s okay. I’ll … take it under advisement.”

“Will you take it to the River Court?” Haley fires back. “‘Cos there’s a very nervous Scott boy waiting there for you.”

“You should go into the diplomatic corps, you know? You could broker world peace.”

“It’s being the youngest in a big group of troublemaking siblings. So, you’ll go?”  
“I’ll go,” she answers, not even begrudgingly. “Now get outta here so I can make myself look so goddam sexy that boy has a heart attack when he sees me.”

As Haley reaches the door, Peyton calls out to her.

“Haley?  
“Yeah?”  
“You said _each other’s guys_.”

“No, I didn’t.”  
“Yeah, you did,” the blonde insists.  
“Maybe … but I just meant my guy as in my _friend_. About Lucas, I mean.”

Peyton looks at her sceptically and Haley decides that making a fast exit is what’s required. She wishes Peyton good luck then goes to leave but stops and points to the turntable.

“That,” she says.

“What?”  
_“’Respect Yourself’,”’_ Haley grins, naming the track that’s just started. “It’s a great cover but an even greater message. _Respect Yourself,_ Peyton. And that means keeping yourself safe, for cripe’s sake. Lock your front door when you’re home alone. Not all intruders are as innocuous as me.”

Then she tears down the stairs before the blonde can ask any further tricky questions or make any more perceptive observations. And finds herself thinking about how totally and utterly unexpected it is, that she should actually _like_ Nathan Scott _and_ Peyton Sawyer.

“Innocuous my ass,” Peyton mutters as she looks out the window at Haley James rushing down the path.  


 

When Peyton arrives at the River Court and takes a seat next to Nathan, and his basketball, on the bleachers, he smiles a small smile but doesn’t say anything. He knows to let her lead.

“Is that it now?” she leads with. “Is that everything? ‘Cos I really don’t think I can handle my best friend setting me up like that again.”

“I was going to tell you real soon and Brooke knew that.”  
“She did?” she asks, surprised, wondering _what_ _the hell_ is going on with Brooke.  
“She had a go at me about it and threatened to tell you,” he explains.  
“So you were only going to tell me because she threatened to?”  
“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head for emphasis. “I was going to anyway. I … I wanted to let things settle and I kind of thought I might get you … I dunno … flowers first, or something. To ... say sorry.”  
“Flowers? Nathan, you have never once given me flowers.”  
“I didn’t think you were a flowers kind of girl, but Haley told me every girl’s a flowers kind of girl if you choose the right flowers.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that.

“So, what sort of flowers were you going to get?”

He turns away from her a little and when he turns back has a single iris in his hand. Dark, dark purple with a brilliant gold centre.

“An iris?”

“I don’t even know what it is,” he admits. “It just …”  
“What?”  
“It’s like you. Dark, until you look closer, then it’s got a heart of gold,” he says a little awkwardly, as if trying out this talking about his feelings thing. “And,” he adds, his voice barely above a whisper, “and … it’s beautiful.”

“Nathan …”

“Peyton, I know this sounds like a pile of crap, but that kiss? With Haley? It wasn’t like … a real kiss. It was …”  
“I know. She told me. And I get it.”  
“You do?” he asks, more than a little surprised.  
“Yeah. I … get it because I kissed Lucas the same way,” she admits.  
“At the party. On the cheek.”  
“No. Today. At my house. In my room. And not on the cheek.”

He clenches his fists, his eyes narrow and his jaw tightens. Before, even a couple of weeks ago, he’d have been gone in an instant; tracking down the culprit to throw a couple of well-aimed punches. The fact that he’s still sitting here, albeit with a stony face, tells her this shift in him is maybe something real.

“You … kissed him?”

“I did. And then I told him I couldn’t give him my heart because I gave it away a long time ago.”

“He’s kind of obsessed with you.”  
“He thinks he is but he’s actually in love with Haley.”

Nathan laughs before he agrees. “She’s in love with him too, but she won’t admit it.”  
“I think so, too!” she exclaims. “How lame are they, huh? The smart kids that have been best friends for years and don’t even know they’re so much more than that, when us dumb asses can see it a mile off.”  
“You’re not a dumb ass, Peyt. You’re just as smart as them. You just don’t work at the school stuff.”  
She shrugs and grins.

“Turns out you’re not such a dumbass either, Scott.”

“Are we ...?”

“Yeah. We’re actually talking to each other again. Maybe we do have a shot at being okay.”

He reaches out to tuck a curl behind her ear then entwines his fingers in her hair and pulls her in to place a sweet kiss on her mouth. He doesn’t push it. He doesn’t haul her into his lap and start a full on make out session. He doesn’t make some smartass comment about knowing she’d be back. He doesn’t do any of the things he usually does when they get to this point. He closes his eyes and takes her hand in his, meshing their fingers and he just sits.

“I just …” she begins.

“What?”  
“I just don’t understand why she was so set on getting between us. Brooke, I mean. I thought, at the party, that she was going after you, but she backed off so I thought maybe I read it wrong … it’s just really weird.”

“I …” he begins then stops, studying their linked fingers. “Fuck …”  
“Nathan?”  
“I know why,” he admits so quietly she’s not sure she’s heard him right.  
“What? How would you ...?”  
“Guilt,” he says just as quietly. “She feels guilty.”

“She feels guilty about thinking about going after you so she tries to make up for it by making my life _worse_? That doesn’t make sense.”

“She feels guilty and she’s trying to justify what she did,” he insists.  
“Nathan, I really don’t get …”

“Peyt. We’re going to be okay, right?”

“Yeah. I said that. Despite you kissing your _tutor_ ,” she laughs.

“Okay so … maybe a dumb question then but can you trust me? From now on, I mean?”

She looks into those dark blue eyes and sees confusion and … something else. Most of all she sees that he _wants_ this to be okay. He really does. And she does too.

“I guess the proof of that’s gonna be in the pudding, but … I mean … I _want_ to.”

“Do you think … if something happened a while ago and I tell you about it now, do you think you can … can you accept that it was in the past?”

“Nathan, you’re kind of scaring me. Just say it, alright?”  
  
He swallows. Hard. And she starts to get an incredibly uncomfortable feeling.

“Not Dad’s moneyburner thing, and not the party before that when I took your car. But the one before that … at my place?”  
“Yeah. We fought.”  
“We broke up.”

“For our usual one day,” she agrees lightly.

“Yeah. I … did something really fucking stupid,” he says quietly. “I was drunk. Really drunk and …”  
“What’s all this got to do with Broo … no! No. No. No. No. No.”  
“Babe, I …”  
She’s on her feet, taking steps backward, her hands clasped tight in front of her, the iris clenched between then, and her face drained of all colour.

“Tell me you didn’t sleep with my best friend,” she whispers. And he _really_ wishes she was yelling right now.

“Peyton, I’m so sorry. I was such an idiot. I’d do anything to take it ...”

Back. To take it back. But he’s talking to _her_ back. She’s already halfway across the tarmac of the court. He slumps, head in his hands, unable to watch her leaving. This honesty thing really, _really_ sucks.

A minute later – a minute that feels much, much longer because his ears and head are absolutely full of pounding and swooshing and he feels like he’s drowning in the relentless noise - he sees her Converse clad feet reappear in his vision and that iris hanging from her hand and he looks up to meet her eyes. They’re all he can see. Big, green eyes. Swimming with tears. Tears that he put there. Again. Jesus, for the second time in one day he’s made her cry. _What the hell is wrong with him?_

“Say something, _please_ ,” he begs.

“I promised you that I’d try to stop going straight to the break up reflex, right?” she demands, with her shoulders set square and her face a stony mask.

He nods, not breaking their locked stare, holding his breath.

“So, this is _really_ fucking hard, Nathan, ‘cos all I want to do right now is beat your ass with the first fucking flower you ever gave me and walk away and never, _ever_ come back.”

“But?”  
“I made you a promise. And … I dunno … integrity or something.”

“You’re _not_ breaking up with me?”

“I’m calling a time out. That’s a concept you should get, Mr Basketball Star.”

“Peyt?”  
“24 hours.”

“To do what?”

“I don’t fucking know, Nathan!” she explodes. “24 hours to try not to kill Brooke Davis in her sleep? 24 hours to try not to sneak into your room tonight and castrate you? 24 hours to try not to spend all night thinking about my boyfriend _having sex_ with my best friend?”

“Peyton ...”  
“No. Don’t say a word. Don’t say we were broken up. Don’t say you were drunk. Because _anything_ you say right now can only make this worse. Be back here in 24 hours. I’ll give you _one_ shot to talk your way out of this. Until then, leave me _the hell_ alone.”

She takes a few steps then turns and throws him one last confusing, to him at any rate, remark.

“And don’t come over thinking you can just waltz in. From now on, I’m locking the doors.”

**24 hours later**

He’s actually there, waiting for her. That’s the first surprise. He didn’t bring a basketball. That’s the second. Somehow this unnerves her. Then she realises that he’s missing basketball practice to be here, and that he missed one yesterday too. He would never miss practice just to talk to her, before all of this. The last couple of weeks have been completely weird and she doesn’t understand what’s going on.

What happened to _Step 1_ , Nathan gets smashed and flirts with a slutty cheerleader; _Step 2_ , Peyton is a bitch and tells him to get lost (order of _Step 1_ and _Step 2_ interchangeable, she admits); _Step 3_ , Nathan screws the slutty cheerleader because they’re broken up and he … well, because he can; _Step 4_ , Peyton shuts herself away and draws while she blares music to the whole neighbourhood; _Step 5_ , Nathan turns up all repentant and starts the charm offensive to get her to take him back, she’s a bitch again but caves; _Step 6_ , they make out, have hot make up sex, he says he knew she’d give in then they circle back to _Step 1_ at the next party. That’s been the … well basically that’s been the weekly cycle for the last few months. But … the last few days? It’s like the universe’s tectonic plates have shifted and all the crap they’ve been putting on each other is falling out through the cracks that shift has created.

So here they are, standing a couple of feet apart. Both with hands in pockets; hers in her leather jacket and his in his jeans. It doesn’t escape her that he’s worn the ones he knows are her favourites ‘cos they actually fit around his ass instead of being all faux gangsta rap baggy. And just to prove it really is some sort of weird alt universe, he’s truly looking at her, right at her, and he’s not trying to be charming and funny.

“I’m sorry,” he begins quietly but with certainty. “It was fucking stupid. I honestly don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Actually … I don’t know what the hell I’ve been thinking for the last few months. I meant what I said last time I came to your room. I miss you. I don’t want this for us. I want us to be how we used to be. I do, Peyton. I really do.”  
“How was it for you?”

“I don’t … what do you mean?” He knows he looks confused and he thinks, for a second, that she’s actually asking him to describe what _it_ was like with Brooke, but she _can’t_ be.

“How we used to be,” she explains. “What _was_ that for you?”

“We … we laughed,” he replies, breathing a sigh of relief. “A _lot_. And we … talked. And you …”  
“I what?”  
“You told me stuff. You let me …”

“What?”

“You let me in,” he finishes in what sounds like a lame answer to him. But it’s the truth. And he figures that’s about all he’s got left to work with.

“I let you in because you gave a damn!” she exclaims indignantly. “You cared.”  
“No. I knew how to _show_ I cared because you let me in. I care. I do. I care _more_ now. I just … I don’t know what you want anymore.”

“I want you to not fuck around on me. I want you to not screw my best friend within ten minutes of a pseudo break up fight.”

“I didn’t know it was a pseudo …” he begins lamely, knowing it’s no excuse, but feeling like he has to fight for this.

“Even if it was an _actual_ break up, it was _within minutes_! God, Nathan, it ...” she stops and looks at him, and he looks so incredibly lost and vulnerable that somehow the usual guard that stops her being vulnerable herself is lowered. And she actually says what she’s thinking. “I don’t know if you can understand how much it _hurts_ me when you just … walk away and pick up the next warm body. It feels like …”

She can’t say it. She physically can’t get the words out. If she says them they might be true. He’s not so afraid. Or he’s more afraid. Either way it makes him push on.

“Like I think you don’t mean anything?” he completes for her.

She says nothing, just worries at her bottom lip. But she lets him pick up her hand and he squeezes it.

“Be honest,” he says quietly.

“I think honesty might be the only …”  
“God, don’t say that!”  
“What?”  
“The only thing we have left? There’s more than that and you know it.”

“Nathan, I was going to say honesty may be the only way _back_. I mean … to what we were.”

“Okay. Then … yeah.”  
“You said …”  
“Go on.”  
“You said we could be that way again.”  
“And I _believe_ that. I _miss_ you, Peyt.”

“Me? Or the sex? Or maybe you haven’t needed to miss _that_.”  
“No. I haven’t ... done that. There hasn’t been anyone. I told you that. Not this time. I promise.”  
“So ... me or …?”

“Look, if I told you I didn’t miss being with you, like that, I’d be lying. Of course, I do. But it’s more than that. Much more. I miss _you_. But it’s even …”  
“What?”  
“It’s even more than that.”  
“Explain.”  
“You said honesty, right? So yeah, I miss how we used to be and I miss you. But … I also miss how _you_ used to be.”

“I used to let you in,” she says, knowing exactly where he’s heading.  
“Yeah.”  
“It’s harder to do that now.”  
“Why?”

She’s reluctant to speak

“Peyton, you said honesty ... that means you too.”

“Because … because when you do that … when you just go off and do some random girl, then come back, it’s like you think I’m one of them. Just some random girl. Some random whore.”

“I don’t think you’re some random … I’ve _never_ thought that!”  
“But you make me _feel_ like I am. Like I’m a whore who means nothing, And when it’s my best friend …”

“Peyton, it’s not like that. You mean _everything_ ,” he insists. And he actually thinks he must be saying what he needs to say, because it _doesn’t_ sound lame to his ears. His father doesn’t speak like this, no male role model he has speaks like this. Except, maybe, Whitey when he talks about Camilla. Maybe his Coach isn’t such a fool after all.

“Then why do you do it?” she asks simply. And they both realise that, until right now, she has never once asked him that.

“Because … because it …”  
“What!?” she cries, spreading her arms, her hands extended in a heartfelt question. “What!? How can you _possibly_ justify treating me like that!?”

“’Cos …”

“ _’Cos?_ You fuck around on me _all the goddam time_! Jesus, my best friend, Nathan. How … how can you do it?”

She’s not yelling, or screaming, or looking for things to throw. She’s just … pleading. _Desperate_. Desperate to know the truth and the sheer heartbreak in her voice breaks something in him, so that he finds himself blurting out a truth he didn’t even know he was holding in.

“Dammit, Peyton … because when I do that shit, it’s the only time you act like _you_ care. Lately, the only time you show _I_ might mean something to _you,_ that I have any effect on you _at all,_ is if it looks like I’m gone!”

It’s a complete revelation and he’s as stunned as she is by his words. They stand and stare at each other for long moments, both breathing hard, both shell shocked by what’s just come out of his mouth.

“I ...” she begins then halts, with Haley’s words from the day before ringing in her ears.  
“What?” he asks. “Just, whatever you were going to say right then, can you just _say_ it?”

“Um … Haley told me about this theory and it’s all a bit … anyway … the upshot is she suggested that, maybe, things changed when my Dad started going away so much. That, I dunno’, maybe I … um … push you away or something, because I can’t deal with the thought of …”

He shrugs but she can see that he thinks there is something in that, and _that_ makes her hackles rise a little.

“Right,” she says bitchily, “so it’s _my_ fault you fuck around?”

“No! No, I know it’s me; I was a total dick.”  
“I sense a ‘but’,” she snipes.  
“I dunno. I mean … it _has_ been different since you’ve been left alone so much, and … I … you’ve moved so far away from me,” he says quietly. “When you’re hitting me, and screaming at me that you hate it when I do that stuff … that’s when I know you do still give a damn about me. About us.”

“Nathan …” she whispers, reaching her hand towards him but dropping it back. He’s braver; he takes a step closer and reaches out to take that hand again.

“Can we … just … can you just give me _one day_? Spend tomorrow with me. We’ll just … cut school and drive and forget all this shit and be who we used to be.”

“Who we used to be?”

“Give me a shot to prove it,” he says winningly, with that charming half grin.

“Prove what?”

“That I’m still that guy and you’re still that girl. I’m still the guy that you _wanted_ to let in. You’re still the girl that made me laugh ‘til I cried.”

“I …”  
“Peyton. _One_ day. Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up early …”

“Early? That’s not exactly how to win me over, jackass,” she jokes.

“Has to be early. So that it looks like I’m going to school. But you can sleep on the way.”

“On the way to where exactly?”  
“Wrightsville Beach?” he suggests a little coyly, his thumb moving to and fro on the pulse at her wrist.

He can see she’s trying so hard not to smile, but, thankfully, she’s losing the fight.

“Remember?” he asks.

“Of course, I remember,” she says softly. “But Nathan …”

“I know. It was a long time ago. But c’mon, there’s not much ‘almost warm enough for the beach’ weather left. I’m even hotter in boardies now. And you’re even sexier in a bikini.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a definite twinkle in them.

“One day?” she asks, still with doubt in her voice, and he remembers what Lucas said to him just a few days ago. That she _doesn’t_ necessarily know what he’s thinking. That she needs to hear it.

“It’s all I need,” he says.

“Oh really?” she says archly. “All you need to what? Talk me into bed?”  
“No. Just to remind you,” he replies, his thumb still making hypnotic movements on her skin.

“Remind me?” she parrots, struggling to concentrate as his thumb gently circling distracts her more and more.

“Peyton. I …” _Tell her you idiot_ , he instructs himself. Tell her. “I love you. I’m fifty kinds of idiot, but I _love_ you. And I know I can prove it. I just need to remind you that you love me too.”

He hears her little intake of breath at those three little words, and he can see she’s thinking about it. Her mouth opens then closes again and he knows that there’s something she wants to say but can’t.

“What is it?” he says. “I’ll do it. Whatever it is.”

“I’ll go if you tell Haley,” she finds herself saying, though she’s not entirely sure where that came from.  
“Tell her what?”  
“Tell her why you originally asked for her to be your tutor.”

“Peyton!”

“No. Nathan. I know that’s not why you’re still going for tutoring. And I know you’re trying, at least a little, to give it a shot with Lucas. But I _really_ like Haley. And I like spending time with both of them. They’re very cool, genuinely good people. And let’s face it … it’s just become painfully apparent that I need some friends that aren’t Brooke Davis, and I want to be friends with _her_ , with Haley, especially. So, you need to come clean. And besides, it was her that persuaded me to even come here and talk to you yesterday, so you owe her.”

He looks long and hard at her.

“Okay,” he eventually concedes.

“Really? You’ll do it? You’ll tell her?” she asks in disbelief.

“Yeah. I’ve got a tutoring session later tonight. I’ll tell her.”

“Wow. I … this is huge.”

“If I have a black eye when I pick you up tomorrow, it’ll be your fault,” he points out, smiling boyishly.

“How early?” she asks, peeking at him from beneath her lashes.

“Seven,” he replies, knowing she’ll beat him back by an hour no matter what he says.

“Eight.”  
“Eight then.”

“Damn. You played me!”

“Like a violin, babe.”

“I’m definitely sleeping on the way.”


	4. Wrightsville Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan and Peyton spend a gorgeous day at Wrightsville Beach, at the end of which Nathan has a truly ridiculous idea that results in a secret squirrel shopping trip and a long overdue conversation, albeit brief, between Peyton and Brooke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more racy Nate and Peyt here. Hopefully the M rating is still OK.

She stops at one point as they walk along the shore and he turns, waiting for her to speak.

“You don’t have a black eye,” she observes.

“Nope.”  
“You told her? You told Haley that it was …”

“I told her that my original plan was to get to Lucas by messing with her. Yes.”

“What did she say?”

“She looked … hurt. And then I told her that I was an idiot. And really sorry. And that I would understand if she wanted to ditch me, the tutoring, I mean. And I told her that I would talk to Lucas and tell him too, if she wanted me too.”

“You … you did?”  
“I did.”

“Does she want you to?”  
“No. She said it was tempting ‘cos he’d go for me and she thinks he could take me, but that someone had to be the bigger person, and she was choosing to be that.”

“Wow.”  
“Yeah. She was … kind of awesome.”

“No. I mean, yeah, she was. She is. But … wow, you did it. And wow, you really would’ve told him too?”

He shrugs, but she knows how big a deal it is to him, and she steps right up to him, pulls him in to her by tucking her fingertips into the waistband of his board shorts and tiptoes to peck him on the lips.

“What was that for?” he asks. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Just because,” she says, her fingertips tracing the line of his waistband across his abs.

“Okay. Can you ‘just because’ me again?”

She laughs and tiptoes again, dropping a quick kiss on his smiling mouth.

They continue walking, this time with their fingers woven together.  
“She was wrong about one thing though,” he says after a few steps.

“What’s that?”  
“There’s no way he could take me,” he utters, his chest puffed out a bit.

“Don’t ever try and find out,” she warns, turning to him with a fiery look.

“Babe …”  
“Don’t _ever_ try and find out,” she repeats.

“Fine,” he grumbles.

“C’mon,” she says, “I’ll buy you an ice cream for being a good boy.”

“Caramel fudge and peanut butter whip for me, triple chocolate and raspberry meringue for you,” he declares, raising a hand to tuck a curl behind her ear.

“What?”

“You heard me.”  
“You …”  
“I what?” he laughs, flashing those navy-blue eyes at her.

“You really remember that?”  
“No, I totally made it up,” he laughs. “What’s the significance?” he adds, playing dumb.

“You know what,” she says, blushing.

“Tell me,” he says, leaning in to kiss her nose.  
“That’s what we had when we came here. Before,” she says almost shyly.  
“Well, to be fair, I didn’t get much of mine,” he shrugs. “You kept stealing bites.”

“You eat ice cream too slow!” she protests.

“How can you eat it as fast as you do and not get a brain freeze?” he argues back.

“I guess I’m just superior,” she giggles.

“Guess so,” he concurs, loving that giggle.  
After a full day of sun, surf, another round of ice cream, a little more hand holding, a lot more laughter, he’s opening the car door for her when she reaches out to stop him. She waits until he’s facing her before she speaks.

“I do, you know,” she says softly, tucking her hair behind her ear, gazing up at him.

“You do what?”  
“I do love you. You didn’t need to remind me.”

“You sure you don’t need any more convincing?” he asks, pulling her hips to his and kissing the side of her neck. He’s done nothing but hold her hand, and occasionally stop and ask her to ‘just because’ him again, all day and now this sudden closeness makes her breathless in an instant.

“Nathan …”  
“Mmm? God, you taste amazing,” he murmurs into her neck. “Sea and salt.”

“Nate. Stop.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I just …” she begins apologetically.  
“It’s okay,” he interrupts, pulling his hands away from her hips. “Stopping.”

“I’m … I …”

“It’s okay,” he repeats. “Actually … maybe …” he stops, a thoughtful, slightly faraway look in his eyes.  
“Maybe what?”

“You want to be like we used to be too, right?”

She nods a little shyly, not able to keep holding his gaze, but he tips her chin back up.

“So,” he says, “let’s … start over.”

“Start over?”

“Right from the start.”

“What do you mean?”  
“Start again,” he says firmly. “From the start. Not … no …”  
“Sex?” she supplies, with a shy smile that makes him grin down at her, then nod almost boyishly.

“Too weird?” he asks.

“From Nathan Scott? Totally.”

“I want you to be able to trust me again,” he explains sincerely.

“Nate. Your um … _appetite_ is … well … if _we’re_ not, then what’s stopping you from …”  
“Because I only want _you_. And I know only time will convince you of that. But _I_ know now. I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”  
“Funny.”

But he grins again and twists his fingers with hers.

“But you did just call me your boyfriend again. Present tense.”

“I … _present tense_? She really _is_ a great tutor, huh?”  
“I only want you,” he repeats firmly, confidently. “And I’m okay with starting over and going slow.”  
“Really?”

“Yeah. You want to know how okay I am with it?”  
“Sure.”

He pauses, reaches to push her hair back behind her ear. Waits until she looks up at him again after turning her cheek into his palm momentarily, her eyelids sweeping down. Holds her gaze. Drowns a little in their greenness.

“We should get married,” he says.

“You what!?” she asks with wide eyes. “You’re planning that many years ahead now?”

“No. Let’s get married,” he says with a little awe. “Now. Or real soon.”

“Nathan!” she gasps. “We’ve spent the last few months breaking up and making up, breaking up and making up. And … and I’m _seventeen_!”

“There’s a reason why we keep making up,” he insists. “We’re meant to be together. You know we are.”

“Nathan …”  
“And we only kept breaking up because I was a dick. I’m not going to be like that anymore.”

She’s staring at him, her face upturned, the sun picking up the highlights in her hair and making her eyes sparkle. There’s a faint glow on her skin from the day in the sun, and he thinks she’s never, _ever_ looked more gorgeous.

“I’m going to be so different, babe,” he promises her.

“I don’t want you to be _so_ different. I don’t want you to be different at all! I want you to be you. It’s just that I want _that_ you to be mine. Not …  anyone else’s. Not _everyone_ else’s.”

“I’ll never look at another girl,” he declares with conviction.  
“Now that’s a promise you just can’t keep and you know it,” she argues. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with appreciating a good-looking person. It’s just …”  
“Look but don’t touch?”

“Something like that. Depends on the look,” she grins.

“I want to marry you,” he says firmly. And she can feel her heart speed up.

“We’ve been back together _four_ days, and in that time,  we’ve had _two_ big rows. _Massive_ rows.”

“Which we sorted out by talking. Like grown-ups. Like _married_ grown-ups.”

“Nathan. I … I’m _seventeen_!” she repeats, aghast.

“So?”

“Well, for a start, I’m under eighteen so I’d have to have parental permission. And there is no way in hell my Dad would do that. And your Dad would throw a Dan Scott sized fit.”

“I’m eighteen. He can throw as many fits as he likes. He can’t stop me. So … any other obstacles?”

“What are you ...?”  
“You’re eighteen in February. Four months.”

Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times but nothing comes out. He pulls her close and wraps his arms around her shoulders, speaking into her hair.

“I love you. I only want you. All that other crap is over. I want to make this promise to you.”

“Promise?”

“So … if I gave you a ring, and we _called_ it a promise ring, and you wore it until we’re _both_ eighteen …”

“Ohmigod. You’re really serious!”

“I am. Marry me. When you turn eighteen. In four months. Plenty of time for me to prove to you that I’m in this.”

“I …”  
“Peyt. It’s a promise from me that I won’t let you down again. Just … say yes. Let me in and let me prove it.”

Those green eyes of hers are wide and awestruck and a little bit terrified but she’s not turning away and she’s not saying _No_ or _Someday, when we’re older_ or _You have to prove it first_ or _After college_. And when she licks those perfect lips he can’t help it, he has to kiss her. So, he does; sweetly and gently and he closes his eyes and he tastes like coffee and ice cream and when he pulls back, after not very long, she can’t stop just one tear falling. Because that was the most perfect kiss ever.

“Okay,” she breathes.

“Okay?”

“Yes. I don’t know what the hell has happened but I believe you. And I love you. And if you’re like this for the next four months then yes; when we’re both eighteen, I’ll marry you, Nathan Scott.”

When they get back to school on Wednesday, the gossip is insane. They hear one rumour that the fight they had _after_ the corridor incident on Monday was so bad, she was hospitalised after throwing her fist through a window and slicing up an artery. They hear another rumour that it got even uglier than that and _he_ was hospitalised after she drove her car into him. They hear that she’s left town and he’s drowning himself in tequila. The least dramatic rumour they hear is that they’re officially done, for good, this time, and that they’ve done the trade of boxes of mementos that signals the _real_ end of any teenaged relationship. They ignore it all. They have a couple of the same classes and sit together in them, not replying to any questions. They sit together at lunch, as if in their own little bubble, oblivious to the stares and the questioning looks and the pointing fingers.  

After school, and at her prompting, he goes to Whitey and apologises sincerely for missing three straight practices. He tells the older man, whose arms are folded across his chest, and who’s wearing a sceptical look, that he will not miss a single further practice all season, even if he’s on his death bed. He tells his coach that he had some big personal stuff to sort out but that it’s done now. He tells his coach that he knows he’s had a shitty attitude lately, in fact for a long time, and that that’s all changing from right now. He tells his coach that he’ll do whatever it takes to get that State championship.

“Including sharing the glory with your brother?” Whitey asks doubtfully. “As … maybe … co-captain?”

“Including that,” Nathan replies with a gulp, but looking his coach in the eye, then nodding. “And including telling my Dad that he’s not my coach,” he offers without prompting. “You are.”

Whitey nods and drops his hand onto Nathan’s shoulder.

“Alright, Scott,” he nods. “Go get suited up. You’re about to have the toughest practice of your life, kid.”  
“I kinda expected to hear that from you,” Nathan grins.

“More than I can say for what I just heard from _you_ ,” Whitey mutters as the kid jogs away towards the locker room. “What the _hell_ just happened?”

After the next Friday night’s game - a massive win against Bear Creek in which the force of the Scott brothers actually working together, properly, for a full game and as co-captains, becomes blatantly apparent to every single person in the stands - when Peyton meets him after the game, standing outside against the gym wall as she always does, she’s fully expecting Nathan to drag her off to the requisite party. Not that she doesn’t want to go and not that she doesn’t think he deserves the accolades, but it’d be nice to not have to play the role sometimes. That, and she kind of just wants to hunker down with him and get away from the looks and the talk. She’s surprised when, instead of turning into Theresa’s road, he continues past the end of it and drives them downtown.

“Are we getting dinner?” she asks, a little surprised.

“Could do,” he says, turning to look at her for a moment. “You hungry? Oh,” he says, hitting his forehead with his palm, “dumb question. You’re always hungry.”

“Jerk!” she fires back, laughing.

“In a few minutes, you’re gonna feel bad for calling me that,” he says with a knowing smirk.

“Nathan? What are you up to?” she demands, turning in her seat to face him.

“Just a little surprise.”  
“I hate surprises.”  
“You won’t hate this one,” he assures her.  
“Tell me now!” she whines at him.

“Can’t do that, babe.”  
“Why not?”  
“’Cos then it won’t be a surprise.”  
“Exactly,” she retorts as he pulls into a carpark, cuts the engine and leaps out of the car. She’s so put out about this _surprise_ , that she doesn’t move, but that just gives him the chance to get to her door, open it and hold out his hand.

“Nathan …”  
“Give me your hand and stop sulking,” he instructs with a roll of his eyes.

“I do _not_ sulk!” she protests, as she puts her hand in his and follows him onto the sidewalk.

“Oh please,” he retorts. “You’re a champion sulker. But you look really hot when you’re all Princess Pouty Lips like that.”

Her mouth drops open and her eyes widen in outrage and he reaches out to push her chin up and close it again, then pulls her close to place a quick kiss on those lips as he leans to close her car door.

“I love your pouty lips,” he teases, then locks the car and starts walking down the sidewalk towards a jewellery store. She expects him to keep walking but he stops. Outside the store. The nicest jewellery store in Tree Hill. Her eyes widen and she starts shaking her head.

“So,” he laughs. “Am I still a jerk?”

“I …”  
“I promised _you_ a promise _ring_. Right?”

She looks at him and nods shyly.

“So, c’mon, then,” he says, opening the door and pulling her in. She takes one look around the store and is completely overwhelmed.

“Ohmigod,” she mutters. “This is …”

“Don’t panic,” he assures her, leading her towards a petite older woman at the rear of the store.

“Mr Scott,” she greets him. “Right on time.”  
“Nate?” Peyton asks, pulling on his hand. “What have you done?”

“Sshh,” he says, wrapping an arm around her. “I just came and narrowed it down a bit yesterday.” He grins at her then entwines their fingers. “I knew you’d freak out with all of this,” he continues, gesturing around the store.

They follow the salesperson, whose name badge reads Kathryn in a stylish loopy script, into a small room, with a small sofa and a coffee table, on which a tray is resting. A tray with a small group of rings resting in a neat line. Kathryn offers them coffee, saying cheekily that it would usually be champagne, but she’s not about to break the law serving minors alcohol, even if they are buying an engagement ring.

“It’s a _promise_ ring,” Nathan reminds her.

“Uh-huh,” Kathryn replies with an innocent look but a knowing tone.

Peyton sits on the sofa and looks at the tray, still overcome.

“So,” he says, sitting next to her. “They’re not like … really big or anything …”  
“Don’t you dare apologise for that!” she declares, turning to grip his hand. “I don’t need a rock the size of a freaking basketball!”

“Well,” he says, “one day, when I get drafted and there’s more money than you can throw a stick at, there’ll be another ring.”  
“Or not,” she says, flattening her free hand against his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. She turns back to look at the tray and smiles softly. “They’re beautiful. You have really nice taste, Nathan.”

He blushes a little. “Well, I thought about emeralds, like your eyes, but …”

“No,” she says. “Sapphires are perfect. Like _your_ eyes.”

“So … choose!” he says enthusiastically, gesturing towards the tray.

“Oh boy,” she says, “where do I start?”  
“Try them on!” he suggests with childlike enthusiasm. “See which one you like the best when it’s on your finger.”

Kathryn arrives back with coffees and sees that Peyton is still a little hesitant.

“Sweetie,” she suggests, “just start at the left and work your way across. There’s five there. You’ll probably get it down to two on the first round.”

“Oh. Okay.” Peyton takes the left most ring between her right thumb and forefinger then looks up at Kathryn. “Um …”

“What sweetie?”  
“Which hand?” Peyton asks a little shyly.

“Engagement; definitely the left. For a promise ring? Left or right are both okay. It’s personal preference.”

Peyton nods her thanks and begins carefully, almost reverently, trying the five rings on her right-hand ring finger. Nathan watches on, thinking that she looks amazing, all concentration, occasionally biting her bottom lip in the way that drives him crazy, and that each ring looks better than the last, and that the fifth one is perfect. She must agree because the last one stays on much longer than the others. But when she removes it, and returns it to its place in the tray, he thinks maybe he read it wrong.

“So?” he asks.

“What do you think?” she asks him, her eyes sliding back to the last ring. He chuckles at her giveaway tell. Nope. He read it right.

“I think you’re the one that will wear it, so it’s your choice. I think … maybe _you_ liked the last one best?”

“It’s …”  
“Peyton, are you worried about how much it costs?”

She shrugs and casts her eyes down, but he leans right down and looks up at her.

“They’re all fine,” he assures her. “I knew you’d worry about that. That’s part of why I came in yesterday. There’s no problem with the price.”  
“But how did you …?”  
“I have some cash put away,” he shrugs.  
“The money your grandparents gave you towards college?”

“From that, yeah, but honestly? It barely touches it. I’m being sensible.”  
“You promise?”  
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I promise. That money is for my future. I know that. In case I don’t get a basketball scholarship. But there’s more than one part of my future that I want to take care of right now. So, _you_ need to pick a ring. And I really think you want the last one. Right?”

She blushes beautifully and nods, not taking her shining eyes off him.

Kathryn lifts the tray away, takes the last ring and gives it quick polish before passing it to Nathan.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” she says. He thanks her and waits for her to leave, before he stands and extends a hand to Peyton to pull her up.

“What …?” she asks.

“Just come over here,” he instructs, leading her away from the sofa and table to where there’s a little more space.

“Nathan,” she says, suddenly thinking she knows what he’s about to do, “you don’t need to …”

“What?” he grins. “I don’t need to get down on one knee? I think maybe I do, babe.”

And he does. In a little ante room at the back of the nicest jewellery store in town, with a ring that she likes best of all because the sapphire is the deepest in colour and the closest to his dark, dark blue eyes, he drops to one knee and takes her hand and smiles that devilish smile up at her.

“Peyton Elizabeth, you’ve given me way, way too many chances, but will you give me this last one to prove I’m worth it? Will you wear this ring for the next four months until you turn eighteen? And then will you let me put another one next to it?”

“And give you one, too?” she says softly. He nods and raises his eyebrow in question.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Oh, thank God,” he laughs. He moves his hand then looks at her. “Which hand?” he asks, with just a little hope in his tone.

“I … the right,” she decides.

“The right?” he pushes, a little disappointed.   
“If you put it on the left people will _ask_ if we’re engaged,” she explains, “and I … this should be just for us but … I don’t think I could lie about it well enough to get away with it … and then it’ll get back to my Dad, and …”

“Sssh,” he says to stop her ramble, “it’s fine.”

He slips the ring carefully on to the ring finger of her right hand, then lets her pull him up to his feet and pulls her into a hug.

“ _Lie_ about it?” he asks smoothly, after he bends to kiss her. “Telling someone we’re not engaged would be a _lie_ so … so, we _are_ then?”

“Well, you asked and I …”  
“Yeah I know,” he chuckles. “I just want you to say it.”

“Oh,” she says, understanding his demand. “Right. You want me to _say_ that Nathan Scott and Peyton Sawyer are engaged?”

“Yeah. I do. That’s exactly what I want you to say.”

She takes his face in her hands, and he feels the coolness of that ring on his cheek before she tiptoes up to kiss him deeply. He’s about to haul her against him and really take that kiss somewhere when she pulls back, removes the ringless hand from his cheek and takes his hand, then leans to kiss him again right by his ear.

“Nathan Scott and Peyton Sawyer are engaged,” she murmurs warmly. “And by the way, I love you.”

“Love you too,” he says leaning into her a little.

“So, you wanna go pay for this rock then head to the party at Theresa’s?” she asks, tucking her hand into his.

“Really? You don’t want that dinner?”

She looks at him and grins.

“You want to go to the party, Nathan, just admit it,” she teases.

“Well, _come on_ ,” he shrugs, grinning coyly, “did you _see_ how I played tonight?”

“Yeah, I did. And I saw how you fed the ball into Lucas more than a few times too.”  
He shrugs but he’s kind of stoked that she noticed his effort. It still isn’t easy for him to share the spotlight, especially with that other Scott boy, but he promised her he’d try. And he _is_ trying. And he thinks back to what she said after the father and son game. Sharing the load was … interesting. Maybe something he could get used to. Especially when his co-captain … okay, his _brother_ ... was as good at making space and being in the right place at the right time as he was.

“You really don’t mind if we go to the party?” he asks.

“Can we get burgers on the way?” she suggests as a compromise.

“Anything you want,” he agrees, as they walk back into the main part of the store hand in hand.

“Burgers,” she confirms. “Oh! And fries. And shakes! Then the party to celebrate the win. Then you’re coming home with me, Hot Shot. For a private celebration.”

“I thought we weren’t going to …” he begins. She raises an eyebrow in question. “You know,” he says quietly, a little embarrassed, bending to speak near her ear. “Slow? No …”

“I know, no …” she pauses, looks sideways and whispers playfully, as if she’s a kid saying a rude word, “S.E.X. But … I’m sure we can think of a few … _compromises_ ,” she then flirts, making him suck in his breath.

It feels slightly surreal, she thinks, an hour later, to be at this basketball victory party by his side. They’ve both nursed just the one drink all evening. They seem to have an unspoken agreement to try this new phase with a different, mostly sober, approach. She’s pretty sure his on court performance is already better as a result. And his performance as her boyfriend definitely is; at parties, she’s used to him being on the other side of the room, or in another room, or outside when she’s in, or inside when she’s out. And to look up and see him chugging back beer, or shots, surrounded by kowtowing teammates, or fawning girls. Or both.

But, other than a couple of times, for not very long, he stays pretty much by her side tonight. He touches her often; not the usual half drunken ass grabbing or slobbery smooch, but a hand grazing her arm, a finger pushing a curl back behind her ear, a hip bump when she says something sarcastic and dry, even a murmur near her ear followed by a quick kiss. Okay, a quick, open-mouthed kiss with the tip of his tongue teasing her earlobe, but still.

Her right hand spends most of the evening either in her pocket, or in his back pocket, or in his hand. She’s very aware they’re attracting a lot of confused looks. _No one_ is used to them being like this.

He asks her, after a couple hours, if she wants to head off, but she smiles lazily and says she’s quite happy. Tells him to go find the guys, if he wants. He shakes his head. Tugs her hand out of his pocket and wraps it, along with her other one around his neck.

“Kiss me,” he demands, just as a very drunk Brooke bowls up to them.

“Hotshot! P. Sawyer!”

“Brooke,” Peyton replies a little coolly, pushing her hair back. She and Brooke have had only the briefest of conversations in the last few days. They’re not quite back to what they were. Actually, they’re not even close. Maybe they never will be. Brooke seems to be pretending nothing ever happened, and has no idea that Nathan did front up about that drunken one-night stand. Peyton hasn’t yet found the courage to even think about having it out with Brooke, let alone to actually do it.

“What the hell is that!?” Brooke shrieks, grabbing Peyton’s hand. “Is that an _engagement_ ring?” she screeches at the top of her drunken voice, causing half the room to stop and look. Peyton pulls her hand away but, in her panic, can’t speak.

“Davis,” Nathan answers smoothly, “we’re seventeen and eighteen, for God’s sake.”

“It _looks_ like an engagement ring,” Brooke protests, pouting and staggering a little.

“It’s on my _right_ hand, Brooke,” Peyton finds her voice to comment, as Nathan subtly squeezes her hip.

“Did Nathan get it for you?” Brooke asks almost accusingly, though her gaze is firmly on Nathan.

“I did,” he replies swiftly before Peyton can even open her mouth.

“So, what is it? An apology? A _shut up and take me back_ bribe?” Brooke bitches.

“It’s a promise ring,” he says firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“A promise to what, Scott? Keep it in your pants this time?”

There’s an audible intake of breath near them, which makes Peyton look up and realise how many people are listening. Including Lucas, who is hovering uncertainly nearby.

“Brooke,” she warns, “I think maybe you’ve had enough. Maybe you should …”  
“I have, bestest friend,” the brunette says boldly. “I _have_ had enough! I have had enough _of him_ ,” she jabs Nathan in the chest, “screwing around on you and messing with your head and … messing with … everything and …”

“I’m not doing that anymore, Brooke,” he says quietly but firmly. “She’s right. You’ve had enough. Why don’t you go upstairs and sleep it off?”  
“Go upstairs? That’s _your_ thing, Scott,” Brooke drawls, running her finger up and down his bicep provocatively. “It’s _you_ that goes upstairs, isn’t it? It’s _you_ that takes the girls upstairs …”  
“Brooke,” Peyton pleads.

“Nathan Scott … takes them upstairs, fucks them, then walks away,” Brooke says shrilly, accusingly.

“Brooke,” comes a cool voice behind her. “Come on.” Lucas takes her shoulders, turns her around and tries to get her walking towards the stairs, but she breaks away and steps back to Peyton, eyeing her with a steely glint. She leans in and places her hand on Peyton’s arm.

“He did that,” she says in Peyton’s face, as if she’s confiding, her hand waving wild towards Nathan.  
“I know Brooke,” Peyton replies, a little embarrassed but wholly unafraid. “I know he did. But …”  
“No. I mean … Peyton, he did that with _me_. He _betrayed_ you … with _me_.”

Peyton doesn’t hear the sharp intake of breath from the room nor does she see the total and utter shock on Lucas’ face. She does however look hard at her friend and she sees it all; guilt, jealousy, confusion, shame and, most of all, the sting of rejection. Brooke Davis doesn’t get rejected very often. And she doesn’t cope well with it at all.

“I know Brooke,” she says softly. “I know he did.”  
Brooke frowns, looks puzzled at Peyton’s lack of shock.

“You … you do?” she asks, confused, looking to Nathan then back to Peyton.

“Yeah, I do. He told me himself. And what happened after that is between him and me. But you know what you haven’t realised?”  
“What?” the brunette pouts, thoroughly put out that she got no reaction from the one person she intended to get it from; Nathan.

“It wasn’t just _him_ betraying me with _you_. It was also _you_ betraying me with _him_.”

“Oh.”

“The difference is that _Nathan_ fronted up and told me, and _Nathan_ is making it up to me. Go and sleep on _that_ , Brooke,” she says quietly then walks past a completely stunned Lucas and a couple steps on towards the front door. She stops and turns then looks sadly at her friend. “Maybe you’ll develop a conscience in your dreams,” she challenges the brunette before continuing on her way.

The Scott brothers eye each other for a moment.

“You …” Lucas begins.

“What?” Nathan barks, expecting a lecture, an insult, a … something.

“You’re different,” Lucas observes, with a puzzled frown.

Nathan nods after Peyton’s retreating back. “Yeah. Finally figured out she’s worth being different for.”

“Just in the nick of time,” Lucas smirks.

“Better that than too late, right?”

His brother nods at him, then turns away to try, again, to get Brooke to go sleep it off.

Nathan watches the two for a moment, shakes his head, then walks out to join Peyton at his car.

“You okay?” he asks immediately.

“I think so.”

“I’m sorry.”  
“Why? You didn’t …”  
“No, but it was my stupidity that …”

She shakes her head, opens the car door and looks across the roof at him.

“Just take me home, Nathan,” she says with a wry little smile. “Take me home, and take _me_ upstairs.”

He does. He holds her close, upstairs in her bed, her back tucked into his chest, their legs tangled, his arms clasped around her. But that’s all he does that night.

 

He wakes up to her kissing her way down his chest. She looks up when he sighs contentedly, and a long look passes between them. She trails her hand down and slips it into his boxers, raising her eyebrow at him suggestively.

“I …”  
“You?” she giggles.

“As amazing as it is to wake up to you doing that, we said … slow.”

“Uh-huh. And I said we could find a compromise,” she argues, her mouth on his hipbone.

“Babe, that’s … isn’t that just … definitions?”

“Maybe,” she says, pausing to look up at him again. “So, clarify then.”  
“Clarify?”  
“Going slow and no sex means what, exactly?”

He blushes. And she chuckles. He shakes his head and then groans as she wraps her hand around his length and rubs the pad of her thumb over the tip.

“Babe …” he groans.

“Okay,” she says, halting her movements and moving to lie atop him, kissing his lips quickly. “We need to get on the same page.”  
“Dictionary page?” he prompts.

“We had issues, Nathan,” she says, “but our sex life was not one of them.”

“I know, but … you don’t get why I want to … do you?”

“No, I do,” she assures him, “I know that you want to prove to me how hard you’re working to change. Well, not change … but to be the best you that you can be. I know that. And I do get it, and I … I’m kind of amazed by it.”  
“But?” he prompts, his hands resting at her waist.

“I … I’m a girl,” she says, with a lovely blush creeping onto her cheeks.

“A girl with … urges?” he teases.

“Well, yeah. And … you are kind of great with those urges.”  
“Just kind of?” he teases again, wriggling his eyebrows.

“Nate!” she protests, hitting her palm against his chest.

“Okay,” he apologises, pecking her nose. “So … let’s get on the same page, then. ‘Cos I’m damned if I’m going all old school traditional just to have you go get someone else to take care of those _urges_.”

“Hey! I wouldn’t …”  
“I know! I know that. Geeze, I gave you plenty of cause, and you never did, so … okay. Definitely no … so _actual_ sex is off the table.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “So, what’s … um … _on_ the table?” she asks with an eyebrow raised.

“Kinky,” he chuckles.

“Not like we haven’t already done _that_ ,” she mutters back.

“Well,” he muses, his palms resting on her lower back, “you tell me. What does going slow feel like to you?”

“A whole lot of frustration,” she laughs, poking him in the chest. “You can channel it on to the court, what am I supposed to do?”  
“Paint?” he suggests.

“Nobody’ll want to look at _that_ art,” she laughs.

“Gotta be better than a black canvas called _Love_ ,” he teases back.

She frowns a little and he smooths her hair back.

“I’m sorry,” he says genuinely, “I didn’t mean …”  
“No, it’s okay,” she smiles. “I … I feel like we’ve moved a million miles from that day and it’s … God, it’s less than month!”

“We _have_ moved a million miles,” he says. “And we have millions more to go. Together.”

“Together,” she repeats with a little wonder.

“Aaaaaannnnnnd,” he drawls out, “exactly what are you okay with us doing … _together_ … for now?”

“Well, _I_ am okay with us just doing everything we did before, _but,”_ she emphasises, placing her finger over his lips, as he goes to protest, “I understand why you want to do this … and I do think it’s amazing. So … let’s just say … I am _not_ saying the p word they use in health class but … everything else _except_ actual?”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. I … Nathan …” she begins, looking like she might cry.

“Hey! What’s …?”  
“It’s okay,” she smiles. “I just …”  
“What?”  
“I always thought … and here it is.”  
“I’m not following you _at all_ , crazy.”

“You’re back,” she says quietly. “That guy I used to know. You’re back.”

“I … is it totally lame to say I came back for you?”

“Yes. And I love it.”  
“Is it even lamer to say I plan on always coming back for you?”

“Uh-huh,” she grins. “You’re kind of blowing me away right now, Nathan Scott.”

“Blowing?” he raises an eyebrow at her word choice, and she laughs loudly before the twinkle in her eyes turns from laughter to something else entirely.

“Peyton,” he sighs as her hands trail lower again and she moves to trail hot kisses down towards his navel. “I didn’t mean …”

“Everything except actual,” she murmurs as she nears the fabric sitting below his waist.

“Babe …”

She doesn’t speak again and he’s pretty much powerless to resist when she slowly, slowly slides that fabric out of the way. Her hair feels like cool silk between his fingers and within moments her mouth feels like warm silk around him.

He has no idea how he could _ever_ have let anyone else do this to him; apart from the fact that she’s just better at it than anyone else ever has been anyway, even though he knows for a fact she’s never been with anyone else. In this … position … his mind has always just seen those blonde curls anyway. Even when the pressure wasn’t right, and the speed wasn’t right and the feeling wasn’t right, and the fingers weren’t slender enough and the hair was brunette or red or maybe even blonde but straight … he’d always look down and see those curls. And he just _knows_ , with every atom in him, that he never wants to see anyone else next to him in bed again. She’s everything. She’s amazing. She’s his, thank God. And for the first time in what feels like forever, he knows he’s hers too. Thank God.

“Oh God,” he moans. “Fuck.”

She hums around him and he curses again, his grip in her hair tightening.

“Babe, I’m …”

Her fingertips press into his hipbones in encouragement and he groans from deep in his chest then his hips buck and he explodes.

“I love you,” he sighs a few minutes later, when she’s tucked next to him and smiling into his chest.

“That was some compromise,” she says archly.

“Tell me,” he requests simply, knowing she’ll understand. She does.

“I love you too, Nate.”


	5. What the ...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's late October and, of course, because things are going well, something has to happen to shake it all up. Ellie arrives.

It’s a Friday night, the school week thankfully over, and they’re just … hanging out.

Peyton’s thoughtfully planning out an art assignment that isn’t due for a while yet but she’s had the germ of an idea pulling at her brain all week and feels like it’s starting to take shape, so she wants to get the framework on paper then dwell on it for a while.

Nathan’s watching back the last couple of games, occasionally rewinding and re-watching, muttering to himself on the rare occasion when he sees how he might have been just that little bit better executing a play.

She sighs, drops her sketchpad and pencil and stretches.

“Okay?” he murmurs, still watching the screen, but sliding his fingers through her hair for a moment.

“Mmm. Need a break and to stretch,” she replies as she sits up and extends her arms up into the air, twisting her neck a little. His gaze slides over her exposed stomach and he grins and wiggles his eyebrows then launches himself at her, pushing her back into the couch and nuzzling into the side of her neck.

“What are you …?”

“You smell good,” he interrupts. Then he presses his lips to hers. “Mmm, taste good too.”

“Better than that pizza you insisted on getting and haven’t finished?” she laughs pushing him off her and standing up.

“Yup,” he says, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back down to him, his large hands moving to hold her around the waist and his lips finding hers again.

“Dessert first?” she giggles.  
“Yup.”

“Nathan!” she shrieks as he begins tickling her without any warning at all. “Stop!”  
“Nope.”

“Stop, stop, stop,” she laughs. “I think that was the doorbell.”

“No one rings your doorbell,” he mutters against her neck, only to stop when the doorbell does indeed sound, this time for a long uninterrupted stretch.

“Eat your pizza,” she says, smoothing down her rumpled t-shirt and stepping towards the door. “Dessert later.”

 

When she opens the door there’s a blonde woman on the doorstep. Wicked boots. Jeans. Band t-shirt. Cool black leather jacket. She’s in her late thirties, early forties maybe. And she looks a little nervous.

“Can I help you?” Peyton asks.

“Peyton?”  
“Um … who are you?”

“I’m Ellie.”  
“Okay?”

“Ellie,” the woman repeats.

“Yeah. I heard you the first time,” Peyton replies, frowning. “How do you know my name? What do you want?”

“I’m … I’m your mother.”  
Peyton shakes her head apologetically.

“Right. I see … you’ve got the wrong house. And the wrong Peyton.  Actually … maybe the wrong town?”

The woman, Ellie, looks at the house number and back to Peyton.

“No. I don’t, sweetheart. You’re Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer. I’m Ellie. I’m your mother.”

Peyton takes a half step back to find Nathan standing right behind her. She stares at the woman, some sort of stomach-churning panic starting to well up in her, then Nathan’s hand lands on her hip and his chin rests on her shoulder.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“This nut job just said she’s my mother,” Peyton says coldly.

“What?” Nathan asks, pulling Peyton back into his solid chest, wrapping his arm around her protectively. “What sort of sick joke are you pulling, lady?”

“Look,” Ellie says, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m sorry. I don’t … I’m not a nutjob. This isn’t a sick joke. Peyton, it never occurred to me that you wouldn’t …”

“Don’t use my name!” Peyton hisses at her, leaning forward against Nathan’s arm. “Look, lady, I don’t know what the hell you …”

“I’m your mother,” Ellie repeats.

“My mother died when I was nine years old!” Peyton hisses again, leaning further forward and jabbing her finger hard at the woman, while Nathan holds her firmly around the waist. “So, I don’t know what made you think you could just rock up and …”

“Anna,” Ellie says. “Your mother’s name was Anna. Your _adopted_ mother’s name was Anna.”  
“My … what?”

“And Larry. Your adopted …”  
“No.”

“Peyton …”  
“I told you not to use my name!” Peyton yells at her. “You need to leave.”

“Look, I …”  
“Leave!” Peyton screams, pulling out of Nathan’s hold and rushing at the woman, shoving her backwards towards the steps. Nathan hauls her back, pushes her behind him and entwines his fingers with hers, squeezing gently.

“You’d better go,” he tells Ellie.

“But … I …”

“If you’re telling the truth …” he begins.

“Why would I lie about something like this?” Ellie pleads. “I’m sorry! I had no idea she didn’t know!”

“You should go,” Nathan repeats. “You can’t expect to just … not now.”

“I’m staying at the motor inn down by the river,” she says to Peyton as the younger blond peers around Nathan at her. “Peyton … I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry. I … I’ll be there for a week. I … I’ll leave you alone. But … if you want to … I’ll be there for a week. I …. I’m sorry.”

Nathan turns his back on her and gently but firmly ushers Peyton back inside, closing the door and waiting for her to react in some way.

She walks away, frowning to herself, without a word. He has no idea whether to follow her or not and waits to see where she’s going. She heads up the stairs, and he fully expects to hear some obscure rock music blaring within seconds, but everything remains quiet. Too quiet.

He waits another couple of minutes then follows her, finding, when he gets to the top of the stairs, that she’s been into her father’s room and is standing at the end of the hallway, in the doorway to the room that Larry Sawyer is hardly ever in. She has a photo frame in her hands and, as he watches he sees one tear fall off her cheek to land on the glass.

“No,” he whispers, “babe, no.”

She looks up, holds his gaze as she slides down the wall and sits, knees bent up against her chest, the photo still in her hands. He rushes to her, crouches next to her, wraps his hand around one of hers. It’s the three of them; Larry, Anna and a young Peyton, seven, maybe eight. All laughing. Happy. A beautiful family shot.

“He lied to me,” she whispers.

“You don’t know …”

“I do,” she says, her voice cracking. “I don’t know how I know, but I do. That woman isn’t lying.”

He collapses next to her, wraps his other hand around her neck and leans in, pressing kisses against her temple.

“I … what …?”

“Just … don’t leave me? Can you stay with me tonight?”  
“Peyt,” he sighs. “Of _course_. Like I’d leave you after that. But …”  
“What?”  
“Shouldn’t you … I mean … call your Dad?”

“Yeah. Not now.”  
“But later?”

“Tomorrow. Will … will you …?”  
“Hold your hand while you talk to him?” he asks, tipping her chin up. She nods, smiling weakly.

“Anything you need,” he assures her.

And he’s true to his word. He sits, quietly, and holds her hand while she phones her Dad the next morning to have it confirmed; Larry is her adopted father. Anna was her adopted mother. Ellie is Ellie Harp, her birth mother. He can’t hear Larry’s words, just the low hum of his voice as Peyton sits, stunned, while Larry speaks. Eventually she hangs up, still too shocked to speak or cry or rant or rave. And all he can do is haul her into his lap and hold her against his chest and wrap his arms around her slender form and let her breathe.

  
He has a practice later that day and he’s loathe to bring it up, loathe to leave her alone even for a couple of hours,  but she remembers and tells him to go, asks him if he’ll come back, if he’ll keep her company, if he’ll stay with her, if he’ll go with her – tomorrow – to the motor inn by the river. He doesn’t know if that’s a good idea or a terrible idea, or what use he’ll be either way, but he also knows he’ll do whatever she asks him to. For as long as she asks it.


	6. Early November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brooke Davis Welcome Mat prompts a conversation between Peyton and Lucas that is both sweet and excruciating.

**Early November**

“Why thank you, cutie,” Brooke throws over her shoulder as she walks away from the lockers, nonchalantly swinging the leopard print lingerie from her finger, and throwing a flirtatious look back over her shoulder at Lucas.

“Really?” Peyton says to Lucas, eyebrow arched and hands on hips.

“What?”  
“Brooke?”  
“You having second thoughts, Peyton? That maybe you regret missing your chance?”

He tries, but he can’t quite pull off the attempted verbal challenge and he knows it, so he smiles and is suddenly extremely interested in his own shoes. She shakes her head, smiling ruefully, looks around them then pulls him into the nearest classroom and closes the door.

“You know the stunt she pulled with me and Nathan and you know her … reputation … and you think she’s the right girl for you?” she asks, arms crossed over her chest.

He holds his hands up telling her silently that this is none of her business and stares her down.

“Or _you_ want to …?” he begins before trailing off. Yeah, he really can’t pull off the verbal challenge.  
“What?” she insists as he tapers off.  
“Beat her at her own game?” he suggests, though he’s inwardly cringing even as he says the words.

“Really?” she asks with an arched eyebrow, not even bothering to sound offended. “That the best you’ve got, Scott?”  
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I … I know you wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m really not the retribution type,” she says, looking hard at him, “as demonstrated by the fact that I am magnanimously spending time with the birth mother that gave me up and took seventeen plus years to come looking for me and by the that fact that I have _exceptionally_ magnanimously let my Dad off the hook for keeping it all a flaming secret for all that time … so yeah, Lucas, I _really_ wouldn’t do that and besides, in the end, she – Brooke I mean - did me a huge favour.”  
“How?” he splutters.  
“She forced us, Nathan and I, to face some … interesting things. In the end, we’re better for it.”

“You … that’s …”

“Mature?” she prompts.  
“I guess.”

“Lucas, can I ask you just one question?”  
“Fire away,” he shrugs.

“In years to come, when you look back, do you want to recall that your first time was with a girl who got topless in the back seat of your car, and left her leopard skin bra there, before she even knew you very well?”

“How did you know she left … and who _said_ she’d be my …?”  
“Lucas,” she said softly. “We’re becoming good friends, and this is not judgement in any way, shape or form. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think she would be. And, as hot and sexy and … exciting as it all seems to you right now, I think you know you really want your first to be more meaningful than a few weeks of hot and heavy.”

“You don’t know everything about me, Peyton,” he protests a little sulkily.  
“No. I don’t. I think I’m right about this, but I can’t tell you what to do.”

“Where does something like that come from, anyway? You regret yours?” he challenges, speaking out of character again. Good grief; ask him a few weeks ago if he thought he’d be pulled into a classroom by Peyton Sawyer to discuss whether he wanted to sleep with Brooke Davis? Yeah. Right. And somehow the fact that this stuff only happens to other people, gives him the courage to speak like someone else. So yeah, he challenges her about her first time. Common opinion is that Nathan was hers, but you never really know, right?

She looks deep into his eyes, tilts her head and smiles softly, understanding that he’s … fishing, then takes his hand between hers, catching a glimpse of that ring on her right hand as she does so.

“No,” she says gently. “I really, really _don’t_ regret mine. I waited ‘til I was ready. I was younger than you; so what?  But … it _was_ a big deal for me, Lucas. And I think it’s a big deal for you, too. I waited until it was with a guy that I knew, _really_ knew deep down, that even if it didn’t work out long term, when I looked back on it years from now, I would have no regrets about him being my first. And it was _amazing_. And I don’t mean that as in _ooh, aah rock my world_ amazing,” she says with a wry smile and a twinkling eye. “I mean as in being looked after, and cared for, and it being meaningful and something that still makes my heart flutter and my stomach knot up when I think about it.”

He looks at his shoes, again, at her hands around his, and back to his shoes. She squeezes his hand then steps away.

“I’m sorry, Luke,” she says softly. “I’ve overstepped. It’s your life. I just … we’re kind of on the outs, but I love Brooke, really, I do. But you’re my friend too, and I care about you and I guess I want you to be able to look back on it the way I can.”

She opens the door and goes to leave the room, but his large hand stops her by grabbing her forearm. When her large green eyes meet his, he nods and smiles.

“Thanks,” he says genuinely. “I’ll … take it under advisement.”

She smiles at those words, and wonders if he knows she used them with Haley not so long ago, when the short brunette was giving her some sage advice.

“We’re okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, we’ll always be okay.”

She nods and goes to walk again but he still hasn’t let go.

“Luke?” she prompts, looking at his hand, then up into his crystal blue eyes. _So_ like Nathan’s she thinks. Just lighter, clearer, less troubled but then ... also without the intensity she knows she needs.

“You can tell me to piss off, if you like, but … was it ...?”

She ducks her head, shaking it and when she looks back up, he thinks the blush that has crept over her cheeks is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Lucas Scott,” she teases, “are you asking if it was your brother who took my virginity?”

“Oh God,” he says, mortified. When she says it bluntly like that, it’s just excruciating. “I’m so sorry, Peyt. That was way out of line.”  
 She laughs, and he’s surprised to find himself laughing with her.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I started this totally bizarre conversation, so I had that coming … oh,” she says, with a cheeky look at him. “Maybe _coming_ was not such a good word choice, huh?”

“Oh, my God,” he says again, “you’re killing me, here.”

“ _Killing_ you? I think I heard somewhere that the word orgasm comes from Latin for little death, or something like that?” she continues to tease him mercilessly.

“Jesus, if this is how you are with your friends …” he mutters. “I don’t think I could possibly be more embarrassed.”

“Luke,” she says, suddenly serious, “I’m gonna tell you three things right now. Number one is that if you can’t have this kind of conversation and _laugh_ about sex with a girl, then you shouldn’t _have_ sex with that girl. If you _really_ think about sex, it’s kind of bizarre … and I’m telling you, it is so much better if you are comfortable enough with the person to have some fun with it.”

He studies her, wondering where this version of Peyton Sawyer came from; all wise and caring and … almost Mom-ish.

“Number two,” she continues, “is that you need to give yourself some space to think and work out how you feel. Like I said, most of the time I love Brooke to bits, and I’ll admit I haven’t wanted to go back to being so close to her after the thing with her trying to get in between Nate and I, so I don’t really know where her head is on you. If you think Brooke is the one to do this with then fine, but just … make sure you’re okay with maybe being another notch on the Brooke Davis ‘boys I have deflowered’ bedpost. Because, trust me, there have been a few. And there will be a few more too. And I knew about the _topless in your car_ thing because … well, because it’s happened before. It’s kind of her … trademark. That leopard skin bra is known amongst the team as the ‘ _Brooke Davis welcome mat’_ for a reason.”

He shakes his head and covers his face with one hand, but she thinks he’s listening to what she’s saying. He peeks out from between his fingers.

“Do I want to hear number three?” he asks, with mock terror.

“It was,” she says simply, without embarrassment. “It _was_ Nathan and I will _never_ regret it. I was sixteen. Just. We’d been dating for six months or so and, believe it or not, despite the version of him you think you know, or knew, there was absolutely no pressure or rushing from him at the time. So far there hasn’t been anyone else and I can honestly say that I hope there never is.”

“That’s why …” he muses.

“Huh?”  
“Remember? I asked you why you stayed with him. That’s why.”

“No. It’s … part of it. It’s not our whole story.”

“Maybe there’s more to the Brooke Davis story than a leopard skin bra,” he proposes almost hopefully.

“Oh, I _know_ there is,” she says sincerely. “We’ve been best friends since we were little girls and I know there is way, way more to her than that. And she is going to be an amazing woman, and wife, and Mom one day … but she’s not ready to be that person yet. She’s still Brooke Davis, party girl, and she will be for a while yet. And hey! If that’s what you want and need, then that’s cool, Lucas. Just … just give yourself some time to be sure about that.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “You know, you’re kinda wise, Peyton Sawyer.”  
“I just want you to be happy,” she replies with a genuine smile and a little flutter of her hand.

“Thank you. I mean that.”


	7. Late November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peyton has a surprisingly good encounter with Deb Scott, makes a surprisingly bad discovery in Nathan's gear bag, and Deb surprises Dan Scott at the mayoral office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some more racy stuff, 'cos it's Nate and Peyt after all.

**Late November**

On a rainy Saturday night that they’ve spent bundled up on her couch watching an alternating mix of old movies (her) and old game tape (him), Nathan indulges Peyton’s sudden craving for a particular kind of chocolate that can only be found at one little store in Tree Hill, and, complaining only a little, he drives her into town. She laughingly tells him the old Nathan would have insisted on sex as payment. He grumbles at her and asks whose stupid idea it was to go back to the start and go slow.

“Um … yours?” she teases, playing with his earlobe.

“Well, we both know _I’m_ stupid,” he replies. “I’m the one that needs a tutor.”

“Nathan, you’re not stupid,” she assures him. “You’re doing great; your grades are way up.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”  
“Well … maybe is an opinion and percentages aren’t open to opinion and your percentages are way up. Look … you’re an amazing ball player but you still have a coach, right?”  
“Well, yeah, but …”  
“So Haley is just your academic coach.”

He looks across at her doubtfully. She has such mixed feelings when he expresses a lack of confidence in his abilities off the court; she loves that he’s prepared to be a little vulnerable with her, the way he used to be, but she really, really doesn’t think he gives himself enough credit anywhere except in the gym.

“Nathan,” she murmurs. “ _I’m_ smart. And _I_ don’t think you’re stupid. And …”  
“And?”  
“If us not … look … if _actual sex_ being off the table is becoming a problem …”

“It’s not! I didn’t mean …”

“I know, but … it’s … frustrating. I know that.”

“Babe, this is … it was just a joke. I wasn’t complaining.”  
“I know. But …”  
“But?” he prompts, taking one hand off the steering wheel to take her hand and pull it onto his thigh and place his over the top of hers.

“You get that it’s frustrating for me too, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean … we didn’t talk about _how_ slow we’d take this.”  
“It’s only been … not even a couple months since we got our shit sorted out. Six weeks?”

“Trust me, I know _exactly_ how _long_ it’s been, Nathan,” she says, making him laugh at the intended double entendre, and then play with her fingers a little.

“Poor baby,” he teases, eyes flashing. “You miss my amazing body being … in yours?” he finishes with a low, husky voice.

“Shut up!” she gasps, eyes wide.

“I mean,” he goes on, “it’s completely understandable.”  
“Seriously, you jerk!”  
“I just mean I get it, ’cos I really miss being … in … your amazing body too.”

“So …?”  
“I … it’d be really easy, right? Get your chocolate, go back to your place, spend the rest of our night appreciating our awesome bodies in your bed instead of crappy old movies on the sofa? But …”  
“But?”  
“I … I don’t know if I trust myself yet,” he admits quietly.  
“Trust yourself?”  
“Not to go back to being that asshole I was being. I like how we are right now, Peyt. I don’t want us to go back to that … mess.”

“I like how we are right now, too,” she says gently.

“So ...?”  
“Wait a bit longer?”

He nods then throws her a wink that makes her blush. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while when we do,” he teases. “Maybe even a few times in a row.”

“Well,” she drawls with a sultry tone, her eyebrow raised, “maybe you’ll get a really special Christmas present.”

“Maybe when we get back to your place, we can do a bit of that _compromising_ we do so well,” he counters.

“Nathan!” she exclaims.

“What? You can suggest _compromising_ to me, but I can’t suggest it to you?”

“I …”  
“If I remember correctly,” he says, a suggestive smirk forming, “it’s even your turn to _receive_ the _compromising_.”

“I …”  
“Though if we’re staying _downstairs_ ,” he puns with a thoughtful face then a sly look sideways at her, “I might have to insist that we actually lock your front door.”

“Ohmigod,” she gasps, pulling her hand out from under his and pressing both her palms to her flushed cheeks. “You are …”

“Making you blush!” he exclaims proudly.

“Oh God! I didn’t used to blush _this_ easy!”

“I like it,” he says quietly, almost shyly.

“You do? Why? I thought you liked …” she trails off, looking embarrassed.

“Thought I liked what?”

“Feisty, ballsy, sexy Peyton?”

“I do. I _really_ do. But I like blushing, little bit shy, girly Peyton too,” he adds, then stops and thinks for a second. “But only if it’s _me_ making you like that,” he warns.

“Just as well it’s only you that _can_ make me like that then, huh?”

He grins with pride then winks saucily. “When we get back, you are _so_ getting compromised, girl.”

There’s no parking anywhere near the store so he says he’ll drive around the block while she runs in. She’s sure her cheeks are still highly coloured when she hurriedly joins the end of a queue at the counter and finds she’s right behind her boyfriend’s mother.

“Peyton!”  
“Oh, hi Mrs Scott. How are you?”  
“In need of chocolate!” Deb replies, waving a couple of blocks of Swiss dark at Peyton.  
“Oh! Me too!” Peyton laughs, with a similar gesture.

“I had to park way down the road,” Deb says as she moves forward a step.

“It’s crazy out there, right? Nathan’s driving round the block while I run in.”  
Deb chuckles, then speaks thoughtfully. “He really seems to be …”

“Mrs Scott?”  
“Stepping up,” Deb says having found the words she was looking for. “He’s … different lately. I think you must have put the fear of God into him after that last fight, huh?”

“Oh. Yeah. I …”  
“Peyton, it’s _okay_. It was about time. You’ve taken a lot of crap from my son. I’m pleased he’s cleaned his act up before he lost you for good; _really_ pleased.”

“Oh. Really? ‘Cos … I wasn’t so sure you liked …”  
“Peyton. I was a bit … maybe I didn’t want to get too close, you know? If it was all going to fall apart … Anyway, you’re terrific! You’ve been amazingly strong and I’m just … I think he actually might be getting to the point where he deserves you. He sure as hell didn’t before.”

“Mrs Scott, I …”  
“Deb,” the older blond says, placing her hand on Peyton’s forearm for just a second.  
“Oh, I can’t …” she answers, carefully examining her feet in sudden shyness.  
“Yes, you _can_. You’re an adult. And I respect you and the way you handle yourself and the way you handle Nathan. So, please … call me Deb. Or,” the elder blonde holds up a finger in warning, “or I’ll be offended.”  
“Well, if you’ll be offended … Deb it is.”  
“Thank you, Peyton. Oh … that’s me,” she answers as the assistant calls _Next.  
_A minute later she’s telling Peyton to enjoy her chocolate, then waving and disappearing out the store door.

He chats easily on the way back to her house and she thinks, as she relays to him the surprising conversation with his mother, that the loaded conversation they had on the way has been forgotten by him, but when he follows her too closely up the stairs to her front door with his hands on her hips, then pulls her against him while he closes the door behind and slowly, deliberately locks it while holding her gaze, she knows he’s forgotten nothing at all.

“Nathan …”  
“Hmmm?” he murmurs as he takes the bottom of her T-shirt and pulls it up over her head, and reaches for her belt buckle.

“You really don’t have to …”  
“Like hell I don’t,” as he slides her zipper down.

“Nate …”  
“I want you in a very _compromising_ position on that couch,” he instructs, then stops her reply with a deep, deep kiss and starts walking her backwards towards the living room.

It’s crazy, really, how, even after dating this long, and having had an intimate relationship for … God, nearly two years, that this starting again thing feels like the most amazing adventure ever. It’s not like they’re doing anything they haven’t already done, it’s just that it all feels … _new_ again. Exciting and yet tender at the same time. She has no idea, really, how much of that is that they’ve all but stopped drinking, or that they’ve toned down the party attendance. Or … what, really.

And he’s always been attentive, even competitively so, in bed, but it’s different now. It’s like he’s really _there_ , all the time, that he sees every little twitch and response and hears every little sigh and moan and anticipates every wish she could possibly have. He knows when to push, when to hold back, when to say sweet things in her ear, when to growl her name coupled with expletives. Well, he always knew those things, she supposes. It’s just that now, he does something with that knowledge.

He knows that peeling the faded denim down her thighs slowly then teasing her belly button with his tongue makes her suck in her breath. He knows that kneeling in front of her and kissing down her thighs while he slips the lace, or cotton, down, down, down past her knees makes her thread her fingers into his hair and throw her head back. He knows that holding her chin with one hand and not letting her tear her eyes away from his while his other hand holds her knee to one side and she feels cool air around her heat, makes her plead for him to _move already_. He knows that when he finally, finally drops his intense gaze down to take her in, to look at her most private parts, then swings his eyes back up and slowly, slowly parts his lips a little and licks them, she moans his name and arches her back in protest. He knows that if he then presses his fully clothed stiffness against her she’ll buck and her eyelids will flutter in anticipation. He knows just when to kiss the hinge of her jaw and move his mouth to her ear to ask her, or tell her, either delicately or explicitly, depending on her mood, or his, just what he’s about to do to her.

“Fingers or tongue?” he asks her now, his voice a low rumble.

Today? “Both,” she gasps.

“Babe, you have to _choose_ ,” he teases, pressing himself hard against her and making her groan.

“Can’t,” she sighs helplessly, her heart thumping.

He slides his body down hers, flattens his palms against her inner thighs.  
“Poor girl,” he says softly, “ _so_ turned on. So, _so_ frustrated,” as he lowers his lips to kiss first one hip bone then the other.

“Baby,” she sighs, “baby. Oh …”

Fingers it is. But oh, then he’s gently, gently moving her legs to rest over his shoulders while his fingers dip in and out then it’s oh … it _is_ fingers _and_ tongue. And oh, she’s gone. Completely and utterly gone.

He learns something new this time. He learns, when she’s coming back down and he flattens his large palms against her hip bones and kisses her stomach and says _God, I love you_ , _Peyt. I love you so much _that she cries.

A week later, Saturday night again, they’ve parked and jumped out of his car, ready to indulge her ridiculous mid-Winter craving for ice cream, when a guy that was a Senior on the team when Nathan was just a Freshman yells out a greeting to him, from the other side of the road. He tells her he’ll just be a minute, takes a couple of steps, then stops and turns.

“Babe, can you grab my wallet out of my bag? It’s in the back.”

He’s true to his word; takes just a couple of minutes to say a few words to his old team mate, laughing, and agreeing, when the guy comments that he can’t believe Nathan’s hung on to that hot Sawyer girl all this time, while she waits by the car. When he returns and she hands him the wallet, he goes to take her hand but she snatches it away in a way she hasn’t for weeks; defensively. The look on her face is fearful, and worried and a little angry and something else that he can’t place.

“What?” he asks. “Did I take too long?”

He knows he didn’t. He knows that, if he had, she’s just have teased him about being a girly gossip or something. Instead she’s looking at him with an expression he’s never, ever seen before; disbelief, suspicion … fear.

“What are these?” she asks, opening her hand to reveal a small tubular container.

Fuck.

“They’re …”

“Steroids,” she inserts flatly. “Performance enhancers.”

“Peyt …”  
“How many? And don’t even think about saying they’re not yours. They were in your bag. There’s an N on the lid, in some shitty dealer’s shitty handwriting.”  
“I don’t …”  
“ _How long_?” she insists.  
“A couple of weeks,” he admits, his heart breaking at the look of disappointment on her face. She takes just an instant to steel herself and make some sort of decision.

“Get in the car,” she says, pulling his car keys out of his hand and opening the passenger door for him.

“You’re not driving my car!” he protests, knowing he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.  
“I’m not letting you drive if you’re loaded.”

“I’m not!”

“Well, forgive me if I don’t want to take that chance. Don’t fuck with me, Nathan. Get in the car.”

She drives to his parents’ house without saying a single word and, still without speaking, pushes him inside.

“What are you ...?”  
“Deb?” Peyton calls out. “You home?”  
His mother appears from the kitchen, drying her hands as she walks.

“Hi kids. I just made coffee.”

Peyton shoves Nathan towards his mother, who looks at him, alarm crossing her face.

“What’s ...?”

“Coffee would be great, Deb. You’re going to need it. Go and sit, Nathan.”

At first Deb Scott, to be honest, is expecting her son to tell her he’s following in his father’s footsteps and has got his girlfriend pregnant. She’s not expecting him to turn his head to look at Peyton and for the beautiful blonde to nod her encouragement and push him towards the bar stool. She’s not expecting, when the three of them are seated at the counter, for Peyton to place a container on the surface, with her hand over it and look at Nathan, giving him the opportunity to speak first. She’s not expecting for him to look at Peyton hard or for the girl, rather young woman, to reach for his hand with her free one and press a kiss into his palm.

“Nathan, please,” she whispers, eyes wide and full of both strength and weakness all at one, sliding that container across the counter and pressing it into his hand.

He opens his mouth, clearly to protest but then he sees just one tear slip out of Peyton’s eye. He watches it slip over her cheekbone, closes his eyes for a moment, then nods and passes the pills to his mother.

“I’ve been taking these,” he confesses, unable to look at his mother. “For a couple of weeks.”

Deb examines the label, frowning.

“Honey, these are …”  
“Yeah. They are.”  
“Where did you get these?”

“I … it doesn’t matter.”

“Two weeks?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. That’s not long enough to do any lasting damage,” she says, obviously trying to stay calm. “I think,” she adds with a worried frown. “Go and pack a bag.”

“What? _Rehab_ , Mom? It’s not …”

“No. You’re going to go stay with Peyton for a while.”  
“What!? Why? You think shacking up with my girlfriend is a _punishment_?” he asks incredulously, thinking his mother has truly lost her mind this time.

“No! Because it’s all the freaking crazy in this house that has driven you to this. It’s the insane pressure your father puts on you, and it’s me being away so much, and being a damned pill popper myself last year. I need to get you out of here. Peyton,” she says, tuning to look at the young blonde, “is this okay?”

“Um, sure. My Dad’s away, _of course,”_ she says drily with a roll of her eyes. “Um … Nathan can have his room.”  
“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Deb declares. “I’m not _stupid_. I know you two will share a bed.”

Deb watches as her son and his girlfriend look at each other and share a subtle, secretive look. She’s completely baffled.

“What?” Deb asks, looking between them several times. “What’s going on?”

He looks at Peyton, a question in his eyes, and she shrugs her consent.

“We … we’re not, Mom.”

“ _Really_ , Nathan?” Deb laughs, her turn to sound disbelieving. “I didn’t come into town on the last load of turnips and I may have been a bit _non-compos mentis_ on occasion but, not to put too fine a point on it, I do have eyes and ears! You two have been sleeping together since Peyton turned sixteen, since the _day_ she turned sixteen if I remember correctly.”

“Ohmigod, I am _so_ embarrassed,” Peyton says, covering her face with her hands. Nathan chuckles, making her slap his arm in protest, and shakes his head.

“Mom, we … stopped,” he explains. “Last time we broke up, we … we wanted to be different. And we’re just … taking it slow this time.”

“You are?” his mother asks, shock etched on her face.

“Weird, huh?” he grins.

Deb shakes her head. “Um, wow. Is that ...?”  
“Mom,” he interrupts, a teasing glint in his eye, “ _please_ don’t ask me if it’s _hard_.”

Deb flushes deeply. “Nathan Royal Scott! You … you’re …”

“Yeah,” he says, draining his coffee cup and standing up, “I’m going to pack my bag and leave Peyton to deal with this one.”

Peyton peeks out from behind her hand, her eyebrow raised as he walks away.

“Thanks!” she yells after him, sarcasm dripping from her lips. “By the way, you have no idea how slow we can take it, _buster_!”

When she looks at Deb, the older blonde is leaning back against the counter, arms folded over her ample chest, nodding and looking at her with admiration.

“Well done,” Deb says, leaning forward to place her hand over Peyton’s for a moment.

“Actually … it was his idea.”

“Really? I … wouldn’t have picked that. But, anyway, I _meant_ well done for making him tell me about the pills. And I do know that if he’d chickened out, you’d have done it.”

“He doesn’t need that shit!” Peyton almost yells, going from slight embarrassment about the sex subject to hyper drive outrage on the steroid subject in a split second. “He’s the best goddamned high school ball player in the State. And his stats prove it. Why would he do this?”

“Well, we’ll find out,” Deb assures her. “Can you get him to Whitey’s office right after school tomorrow?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Good. I’ll meet you there. Deal?”

“Deal. Thanks, Deb.”

“I told you the other day, honey. And this,” she adds shaking the pill container, “just proves it. You’re perfect for him. Anything I can do to help you two get your asses away from this sink hole of a town and off to Duke, I’ll do.” She smiles wickedly before continuing. “Your apparently _chaste_ asses, that is.”

“Oh God …” Peyton mumbles, hiding behind her hands again.

“Oh honey,” Deb chuckles, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s _fine_. Don’t be embarrassed. You know … there really is just one question though.”

“What’s that? ‘Cos it really is okay for him to stay.”  
“Mmm-hmmm. The question is, if he’s right across the hall for a few nights in a row, maybe even a couple weeks,” Deb leans in, her eyes twinkling, “exactly how much longer do you think you can hold out?”

“I am so out of here,” Peyton announces, leaping off the barstool.

“Be safe, honey!” Deb calls to her retreating back. “See you after school tomorrow.”

 

Just after three the next afternoon, Peyton’s leading Nathan down the hallway that runs behind the gym. He’s already asked her twice what she’s doing taking him to Whitey’s office and twice she’s flirtatiously said he’ll find out when they get there. He’s always wanted to make out, or more, in the coach’s office. She’s always told him not to be so stupid. So, he finds it hard to believe that that’s what she’s got in mind, but if there’s an outside chance, he’ll gladly follow her there.

When she pushes him into the office and he sees that the coach is there, and that so is his mother, he turns back to Peyton with more than a little outrage forming on his tongue. He knew it was too good to be true that she hadn’t mentioned the pills all day.

“Don’t even go there,” she warns, raising her hand and showing him her palm.

“You …!” he accuses his mother and Peyton with one harsh look. “You two set me up!”

“Just … don’t, Nathan,” Deb warns, repeating Peyton’s words. “You should be thanking your lucky stars for what Peyton’s done here.”

“Son,” the older man starts, “take a seat.”

“I think I’ll stand,” Nathan mutters contrarily.

“Fine by me,” Whitey replies unfazed, as he seats himself. “Now. Your Mom tells me you have something to tell me.”

Nathan looks at Deb, frowning. She just gestures towards his coach with her hand. Great. So, he has to admit it, again.

“Well?” Whitey prompts. “You’ve been doing good, Nathan. This better not be some bullpucky like you’re giving up basketball. Or you’re on the stand down list ‘cos you’ve failed a test.”  
“It’s … not that,” Nathan sighs, running his hand through his hair.

“Good. I’ve heard rumours in the staff room about your grades coming up even further, so it’s good to hear you’re not messing that up. Well? C’mon then. I’m an old man. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Peyton’s hand finds its way to the small of his back, rubs an encouraging circle and somehow the soft warmth strengthens him.

“Have you got them?” he asks his mother. She nods and rummages in her bag for moment then passes them to him with a gentle nod of encouragement. He takes a couple of steps forward and places the small bottle on the desk in front of his coach.

Whitey frowns at the bottle, frowns at Nathan.

“I’ve been taking them,” Nathan admits quietly.

“What _the hell_ for?” Whitey shouts, face instantly reddening, raising to his feet.

Peyton and Deb look at each other with the same stunned look. Neither of them had actually thought to ask him that. Nathan shrugs, but all three of the others in that room know it’s not that he doesn’t know why; it’s that he doesn’t want to say.

“Alright, son,” Whitey tries again. “You want me to ask these lovely ladies to leave so we can discuss this man to man?”

Nathan looks up, a little surprised.

“Yup,” Whitey nods with a smile that is small but nevertheless present, “I said man to _man_. Nathan, you’ve stepped up these last few weeks. I’ve never seen you play better and I really don’t think it’s due to this … crap,” he states, gesturing towards the bottle. “And the way you’re _leading_ sure as hell doesn’t come from some chemical. You’re part of the _team_. You’re playing for the _team_. More than you ever have before. So why the hell would you do this?”  
“I … I’ve been doubling up on workouts and … it just … I’m not recovering fast enough after.”

“Doubling up?” Whitey presses. “I work you hard enough. Why?”

“I ...” he looks between his Mom and his girlfriend and … he just can’t say it.

“Nathan,” Deb asks him, knowing the answer before she even speaks. “Your father?”

He can’t even nod. He just closes his eyes and his hands make a tiny defeated gesture.

“Nate,” Peyton sighs behind him. She’s kicking herself too. He’s been dog-tired, falling asleep on the couch often, and she’s been so busy with an important upcoming art portfolio deadline that she hasn’t stopped to wonder why.

Whitey nods at Deb when she turns to him, lost.

“Alright,” the coach says firmly. “This is what’s going to happen. Tomorrow, I’m announcing a random testing regime to the entire team.”  
“But …”  
“Nathan. Relax,” Whitey says with a kindly, reassuring tone. “No one needs to know why. And, honestly? Lots of high schools are already doing this. How long have you been on this crap?”

“Couple weeks.”  
“Alright. I don’t _think_ that’s long enough to do any ongoing harm, but I’m going to look into it,” he says, pocketing the bottle, “just to be sure. _You_ are going to stop doubling up on workouts. You told me a while back that I was your coach, not your father, and believe it or not, my programme is not pulled out of thin air. I know what the hell I’m doing.”  
“I know!” Nathan cries, then holds his hands up apologetically, softening his voice when he speaks again. “I _know_ that Coach, I do, but …”

How can he tell Whitey that it was telling Dan _exactly_ that, that Dan _wasn’t_ his coach, that got him into this mess? His father went ballistic. Whitey sees it though and looks to Deb with a question in his eyes. He may be master of the Tree Hill High gym, but he can’t control what goes on at home.  
“Nathan,” Deb says firmly, “you keep staying at Peyton’s until I say otherwise. Leave your father to me.”

“But …”

“Do as your Mom says, son,” Whitey says as he steps around the desk. “Go suit up for practice, and get the guys going on wind sprints. I need a few minutes.”

Nathan looks between his mother and his coach, reluctant to leave, but Deb stands, walks to him to hug him and tells him it’ll be fine.

“But, Mom, what if he …?”

“Nathan. I can handle your father. Trust me. But don’t _worry_ about me. You just worry about yourself for now. Peyton, can you …?”

The younger blonde takes his hand and leads him wordlessly away, allowing him one lingering look back over his shoulder. He doesn’t say a word between there and the doors into the locker room. Once there, she stands, staring at the floor, toeing it with her Converse, ready for him to give her a hard time over her deceit.

“Look,” he begins.

“I’m not sorry,” she says, raising her head defiantly. “I’m _not_ , Nathan. You don’t _need_ that shit. You’ve got … like … the best stats in the State. And if you got caught with that crap on you, you could … you _would_ … blow your chance at a Duke scholarship. I can’t let you do that. I can’t let you jeopardise your future ... or, more importantly, your health. Don’t you get that?”

“You ambushed me,” he accuses, but there’s no sting in his tone.  
“Yup. And I’d do it again, too.”  
“You could’ve just told me,” he protests weakly.  
“And you’d have gone? You’d have gone into Coach’s office willingly?”  
He shrugs.

“Admit it,” she says, poking him in the chest. “You wouldn’t have!’”  
He shrugs again, but this time a small smile twitches at his lips and he grabs her finger, wrapping his palm around it.

“I’ve got your back, Nate,” she says softly.

“I think you’ve got my front too,” he says, his other palm coming to rest on her ass and pulling her in against him.

“There’s something else,” she muses, meeting his gaze. “There’s another reason?”

“Sort of,” he admits with another of those shrugs. “It’s mainly ‘cos Dad hit the freaking roof when I told him to back off. I should’ve known telling him I only have one coach and it isn’t him would make him see red.”

“So _mainly_ that … and?”  
“My Dad’s record.”  
“What about it?”

“He took the previous record when they played against the Cavaliers. We play them in a week.”  
“You want to beat his record playing the team he set it against?” she chuckles, appreciating the poetic justice.

“That, and it’d be nice to shut him up once and for all,” he mutters.

“So? You don’t need chemical shit to be … um … _motivated_ to play your best game ever, Nate,” she challenges with a distinctly flirty tone.

“You gonna give me some other kind of motivation?” he flirts back.

“Maybe,” she winks.

“Yeah?”

She places her hands squarely on his shoulders and tiptoes to whisper her incentive huskily in his ear, causing him to inhale sharply. When she steps back he’s blushing and she laughs in delight.  
“Seriously?” he almost chokes.

“Break your Dad’s record against Cove City, baby,” she confirms, “and yeah.”

“Go,” she says, pecking him quickly on his lips, stepping back and pushing him towards the door into the locker room. “I’ll see you after practice.”

When Deb Scott leaves Whitey Durham’s office a few minutes later, she has the coach’s words ringing in her ears.

_“I’ll forfeit the damn game before I lose a boy to that.”_

Her son has an amazing girlfriend and an amazing coach. It’s about time he had an amazing mother, too. She marches confidently to her car and drives directly to her husband, the mayor’s, office. When Nathan and Peyton left Whitey’s office she had one piece of live ammo. She now has two bullets; and the second one’s silver all the way through.

“Well, well, well,” Dan smirks when he looks up to see his wife standing in his office doorway, hands on her hips, breathing hard. “It’s been a long time since you visited me at the office all … worked up, Deb,” he drawls, eyeing her low-cut top. “You need to close the door? You want me to … clear the desk surface?”

She reaches behind her and slams the door, not dropping his gaze for a second.

“Okay,” he grins lecherously, “I thought I was joking, but …”  
“Listen up,” she says, stalking towards him. “ _This_ is what’s happening, _Dan_. Nathan has moved out.”

“He’s _what_?” Dan stands, hauls his desk drawer open and pulls his car keys out. “We’ll see about …”  
“He’s moved out and _I_ told him to and _you’re_ not going to do a damn thing about it.”

“What the hell ….? What sort of drunken pill-induced crazy did you …?”  
“No! No, Dan. I was stone cold sober then and I am stone cold sober now. Whether or not he ever moves back in is up to you.”

“Damn right it is! And I’m going to get my son right … it’s that bloody little Sawyer tart, isn’t it?”  
“That _young woman_ ,” Deb says firmly, with a cautionary finger raised, “has probably just saved your son’s playing career. And maybe his life.”  
“What the …?”  
“He’s been taking steroids, Dan. She found them and she made him come clean.”  
“What the fuck!?” he yells. “Then he needs to be at home. Where I can keep an eye on … this is _your_ fault, Deb. You’re the …”  
“No. You don’t get to lay this on me. It’s _your_ insane workout schedule and you ‘ _keeping an eye on him’_ that’s got us to here. You’ve had him doubling up on top of what the coach is …”

“Huh! Whitey? That old fool?” Dan scoffs snidely.  
“Dan! Just shut the hell up. _He’s_ the coach. He’s _Nathan’s_ coach. He’s looking out for that boy.”  
“He’s an idiot.”  
“ _You’re_ an idiot if you think I’m going to let you …”  
“And just what do you think you can do about it, Deb?”  
“Two things, actually,” she challenges with a confidence he hasn’t seen in a while.  
“Oh yeah? And what might they be?” he sneers, coming around the desk to tower over her. “Two things; booze and pills? Oh wait. You already did that.”

“One. You leave Nathan alone, or I’m filing for divorce.”  
“Right. You’d do that? Are you forgetting what side your bread’s butter on. _I’m the mayor_!”

“Please! Are _you_ forgetting where all the money came from, Dan?” Deb challenges him with ice cold calm. “And are _you_ forgetting my salary is damn near twice what your mayoral paypacket is?  And if you think I give a _damn_ about the reputation of the dealership, you couldn’t be more wrong. I’ll pull my money out of the dealership if that’s what it takes to save my son. Two, Mr _Mayor_ , you leave Nathan alone or all of Tree Hill will learn just what a domineering, borderline abusive father you are.”  
“Don’t be ridicul …”  
“There’s _footage_ , Dan.”  
“Of what?” he scoffs.

“Of you … slamming your son against a locker. Of you _threatening_ him.”

“Don’t be … there aren’t …”  
“What? Cameras in the locker room? No. But someone got you on their phone. I’ve seen it and it’ll ruin your precious reputation if it gets out. And before you ask, I have no idea who got it. But whoever it was took it to Coach Durham and he assures me he’ll use it if you don’t leave Nathan alone. And I assured him that he would do that with my blessing, and my backing. So, Mr _Mayor_ , you just think on that for a little while.”

 

 

The following Friday night, the Tree Hill High School Ravens beat the Cove City Cavaliers in their widest winning margin of the season to date. The entire team plays well, Lucas included, but Nathan Scott is on fire from tip off to the buzzer. Everyone notices and everyone says so. Peyton Sawyer may have tipped off Mouth McFadden, who happens to mention during his game webcast, part way into the first quarter, that there’s an old Ravens record that may be challenged tonight. By the end of the third, Dan Scott’s son has matched that old record. Everyone on the team knows it. Everyone in the crowd knows it.

When Whitey rests Nathan going into the fourth, Nathan, the bit between his teeth, starts to argue, but his coach rests his hand on his shoulder and tells him his moment is coming, tells him that if he can just rest up for a few minutes, he’ll be back on and not only will the record be his, but his brother will have a few minutes running the court and he, Nathan, will have the wind to help the team to what should be their widest winning margin of the season too. Nathan nods, grins and takes the bench for three more minutes. When he goes back in, Cove City have nothing left to offer and Lucas, as aware as anyone of the record, takes great delight in setting Nathan up for the shot that makes the record his. And there’s still eight minutes on the clock at that point. It seems to Nathan like he and Lucas just take alternate shots for the rest of the game, like it’s a friendly little shooting practice down at the River Court; it’s not quite like that, but it might as well be.

Nathan’s not all that surprised when his father leaves the gym without congratulating his son on breaking that record. He _is_ surprised that he finds he doesn’t care about the lack of recognition. He’s much more interested in getting through the shower, finding his girlfriend and making good on that motivation she dangled in front of him.

She’s waiting for him when he leaves the gym, leaning against the outside wall, standing one knee bent and her foot flat on the wall, as she does. He strides up to her, pulls her from that wall into his arms and kisses her long and hard.

“Okay,” she laughs when he pulls back. “Wow. What was that for?”

He smirks and pulls a small piece of paper from his jeans pocket and presses it into her hand. She looks at him curiously and unfolds it, her eyebrow quirking as she reads it aloud.

“1 - Our spot at the beach. 2 - In the school quad at 1am. 3 – In your kitchen. 4 – Back seat of the Comet. 5 – TBC.” She looks at him coyly through her eyelashes and plays it like she doesn’t know what’s going on. “Nathan? What is this?”

He laughs. He knows her game. He’ll play it. Gladly. He pushes her gently back against that wall and slips his hand up under the back of her Zep T-shirt, flattening his palm against her warm skin. His voice is low and lusty in her ear.

“You promised me,” he intones. “Beat Dan’s record and I can name five places.”

“Five places? For _what_?” she asks, all innocence.

“Five places where I’ll be ... _compromised_ … by my fucking sexy girlfriend.”  
“Oh,” she teases. “ _That_. Well, I guess you did deliver; smashing that record into oblivion and all,” she adds with a carefree shrug. “And I guess you did look _damned_ sexy while you were doing it.”

“I pick number one,” he grins. “And I pick now.”

“You think you get to pick _when_ as well as where?” she asks, playacting outrage.

“Fuck yes,” he says. “That’s gonna be half the fun.”  
“Geeze, what have I let myself in for?” she teases.

“Well,” he murmurs, his fingertips slipping down into the back of her jeans a little, and his lips teasing her neck, “let’s just say … when you least expect it, expect it.”

“Hey Scott! Nice work!” someone calls from behind them, and he turns his head to nod his thanks to the generous spirited comment from the Cove City Cavalier defender. The guy laughs. “For the game, I mean, though nice work with your girl too.”

Peyton scowls at the guy and Nathan soothes her with a gentle squeeze of her hip. _Who cares what anyone else thinks_ his touch tells her.

“You coming to the party?” the guy asks as he continues down the path.

“Yeah but later,” Nathan replies smoothly, caressing Peyton’s lower back. “I’ve got a … a prior engagement first.”

“Sucks,” the guy throws out before disappearing into the dark.

“Uh-huh,” Nathan moans as his girlfriend presses her hips into his and slips her fingers into his hair, pulling him down for a long, deep kiss. “She does. And she’s _amazing_ at it, too.”

“Beach,” she mumbles against his lips. “You’re driving.”


	8. Building Relationships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie hangs around. Things are busy. Coach Durham initiates an interesting school project.

**December**

Before they know it, Christmas is approaching though they feel like they don’t know where December has gone.

Nathan’s been focussed on basketball, of course, but also working his ass off to drag his grades up. It’s been a long time since he’s been at threat of being benched for having any failing grades, but the guidance counsellor had given him some home truths about the likelihood of getting into a decent college on his basketball skills alone.

He’d been awfully quiet in his next tutoring session with Haley and when she’d pressed him, he’d come clean. He wasn’t naturally prone to worry, but he was worried about this. Duke was the goal. Duke was the _plan_. To be told that not only Duke but that _any_ college might be beyond him was … weighing him down. And it showed. He hadn’t considered … but then he also hadn’t considered how determined Haley James was, and how good a teacher she was. The next time he saw her, she’d worked out a carefully planned, colour coded schedule that filled just about every spare half hour he had and laser-targeted his study efforts to where he could get the most impact.

Oddly, he was finding it satisfying, watching papers come back with solid Bs, watching his averages climb, being taken aside by a couple of teachers and complimented on his efforts. Of course, he was finding it very satisfying teasing Haley James about Lucas too; it made her blush and hide behind her hand and tell him off for his lack of focus.

Peyton’s been working with Ellie on a breast cancer fundraising project – an album. It was Peyton’s idea. The two of them had been cautiously spending time together, Ellie smart enough to let Peyton lead, and also smart enough to know that if she left town after the one week she’d originally planned on staying, there’d be no coming back from that. And she’d stayed. Discovering their shared passion for music had helped. When Peyton eventually, and hesitantly, asked Ellie what had prompted her to get in touch _now_ , Ellie had admitted to having been through a rough few months of treatment for breast cancer. Peyton had backed away, alarm all over her face, and it had taken Ellie all her skills to haul Peyton down off the ledge.

“It’s okay,” she’d murmured, her palms stroking down Peyton’s arms, “Peyton, it’s okay. _I’m_ okay. I’m in the clear. It just … made me think about my life, you know? And what I had, and what I was missing and …”

“You’re not …?”  
“I’m not dying. I promise. Not yet, and not for a long time, I hope. We got it early. I’m in remission and I promise I’m having annual checks to keep on top of it. I’m not going anywhere, kiddo. Not unless you tell me to take a hike.”

Peyton’s also been running all age nights at Tric, having pitched the idea to Karen Roe, Lucas’ Mom, who’d embraced it wholeheartedly. She was a basket case before the first one, nervy that no one would come, or that they would but the night would be a bust anyway and she’d be publicly humiliated. They came. Of course. The night was a huge success. Of course. Nathan was in awe of her really and could even tolerate – just – the growing friendship between her and his … yeah, okay, his _brother._

One week before Christmas, he turns up on her doorstep, an envelope in his pocket, to find she’s also – finally - decided to start pulling together a huge portfolio for a college application.

While she’s been trying to reconcile herself to the fact that her artistic ability has come from Ellie, who’d admired Peyton’s work and hesitantly suggested she should submit it in application for a scholarship to Duke’s highly regarded arts programme, Ellie and Nathan have both been trying to persuade her to give it a shot. Peyton, ever modest, has dissembled over and over.

When she tells him that she’s giving in to the nagging and doing it, he grins widely.

“Thank God for that,” he says, “you were being so stubborn.”

“And just why did it matter so much to you, Hotshot?” she teases.

“Do I have to remind you of where I want to go to college?” he lobs right back.

“You …?” she falters, a cute little frown creasing her forehead.

“Me?” he’d teases.

“You’re pushing so hard on this because you want us to go to college … together?”

He rolls his eyes and laughs at her.

“Well who else would I want at Duke with me?”

“I …”  
“You?” he teases in an echo of her own question from moments earlier.

“I just … that’s kind of big, Nate.”  
“You don’t want to?”  
“No! Of course I want to … I just … I dunno’ … that seems a lot like … commitment and stuff, you know?”

He draws her against him, delicately pulls at the chain around her neck and holds that ring between his thumb and forefinger.

“Commitment?” he asks. “Like … getting married sort of commitment? ‘Cos I thought we’d already had that conversation.”

“Seems like a million years ago,” she sighs.

“What? Just because the last few weeks have been insane?”

“Well … a mother turning up …”  
“The team leading the league …”

“ _You_ leading the league stats …”  
“Lucas is close behind …”

“You getting your head around having a brother …”  
“You turning into the whizz kid of live gigs … _and_ this album thing …”

“You turning your grades around ….”

“They’re not quite there yet,” he says quietly, withdrawing a little.

“Nathan?”

He pulls away and sits on the couch, pulling the envelope from his pocket and passing it to her.

“What’s this?”

“Read it,” he says, anxiety lacing his voice.

“Nathan, just tell me.”  
“It’s from Duke.”  
“I can see that from the emblem on the envelope. I …” she drops to kneel on the floor before him, her hands on his thighs, eyes beseeching. “Nathan? I … it’s too early for them to say no. Isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It’s … it’s early acceptance …”  
“Nathan!” she shrieks, propelling herself into him. “Nathan, that’s amazing. But … wait … why are you not _happy_ about this?”

She pulls back, rests a palm against his cheek, looks worriedly at him.

“It’s provisional,” he explains. “I’ve got to get my grades up another couple points.”  
“Where are you at now?” she breathes.  
“Overall? B-.”  
“And you need to get to where?”

“B+, maybe even an A- to be sure.”

“You can do it,” she says. “You _can!_ Look how far you’ve come in just one semester.”

“I … yeah … I can?”  
“You can,” she says emphatically. “You have Haley. You have me. I’ll help however I can.”

“You have enough on your plate, babe.”

“Well there’s no point me acing this arts thing if you’re not gonna be at Duke with me, is there? So, you just have to do it!”

“Right. I just _have_ to?”  
“Yep. You need an incentive?”  
“Incentives are good,” he grins, his eyes twinkling and his hands reaching for her.

“My birthday is a Thursday.”  
“Okay, and?”

“We could … go to Wilmington the next day?”

“Wilmington? Why?”

“Because your father is the mayor of Tree Hill and his office is at the Tree Hill City Hall so if we go _there_ ….”

“You’re …?”  
“I’m?” she laughs, her eyes flashing, and her eyebrows raised in question.

“You’re gonna marry me?” he asks in disbelief, his eyes wide. “In February? You’re _really_ gonna marry me?”

“Well … you asked me, and I said yes so … looks a bit like it, huh?”

He tips his head back and laughs, then stands, hauling her to her feet and swinging her round, burying his face in her hair and breathing her in.

“You know how much I love you?” he asks eventually, his forehead against hers, their breath intermingling.

“It better be a lot,” she teases.

“Oh, it’s whole heap more than that,” he assures her.

“Good,” she murmurs, “’cos there is just one thing …”  
“Hmmm?” he mumbles, his hands falling to her hips.

“My Dad’s coming in for Christmas.”  
“You … want to tell him?” he asks in surprise.

“No! God no! But … you have been sleeping in his room for the last few weeks …”  
“I have to go back to my folks’ place,” he says calmly.

“Yeah. I … will you be okay? I mean … your Mom will …”  
“It’ll be fine,” he tells her. “Between school and practice and studying my ass off so I can turn that provisional acceptance into a _hell yes you’re coming to Duke_ …”

“You can come back right after my Dad goes back to sea …?”

“I think … maybe I shouldn’t?”  
“You don’t want to?”  
“No. I do. Believe me, I do. But this whole taking it slow thing. It’s …”  
“Tough?”  
“Difficult.”

“Yeah,” she sighs.

“I’m glad we’re doing it,” he says, “or … _not_ doing it,” he chuckles. “I … I feel like it’s made us better. Does that make sense?”  
“It really does,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I just worry about your Dad putting you under pressure again and …”

“I won’t let him,” he promises. “I’ll keep my distance.”  
“And you’ll let your Mom help you? If he …?”

“Yeah. I will.”  
“Promise?”  
“Yes, babe,” he says rolling his eyes, “I promise.”

 

  **January**

Peyton finds January is just plain weird. Her Dad’s week-long visit over Christmas is strained at best, and she’s frankly relieved when he heads back out to sea. She misses Nathan’s calming presence in the house, and can’t believe that only a few short months ago, he was the cause of all of her angst, not the balm that keeps her grounded as he is now.

Despite her very best efforts at subtly, or not so subtly, trying to push Lucas and Haley together, Peyton watches, bemused, as Lucas jumps through ridiculous hoops trying to prove himself to _Brooke,_ even going so far as to agree to some non-exclusive dating-but-not-dating arrangement that seems to make him deeply unhappy.

Peyton’s not really sure what’s going on; while she’s become quite friendly with Lucas, he refuses point blank to discuss Brooke with her. And she’s become even more distant from Brooke. Sure, they’re cheering together at every game and high kicking side by side through every practice, but their friendship can’t really even be described as that any longer. Plus … Peyton’s had so much going on and Brooke’s been hanging with some obnoxious redhead that transferred in late.

Peyton doesn’t like Rachel at all, thinks she’s an attention-seeking trouble-maker and wonders how much havoc she could have caused if she’d turned up at the beginning of the school year instead of part way through. Certainly, the flame-haired bimbo’s multiple attempts to seduce Nathan might have been more effective back then, but as it stands, they’ve come to nothing, and, amazingly, he’s told Peyton about every single one.

_‘Look, I don’t know why you think I’d want anything you have to offer. I have a girlfriend, alright. She’s amazing. She’s gorgeous. She’s the only one I see and the only one I want. Go try flashing your ass at someone else. I’m not even remotely interested.’_

When the entire year is called together to watch as Whitey Durham uncracks a time capsule from his own Senior Year at Tree Hill High, Peyton thinks it’s sweet and nostalgic. When she finds out their entire year is going to be required to participate in creating time capsules _of their own_ , she’s less than enthusiastic but when it’s her turn in front of the camera she inexplicably finds herself talking about the shock of discovering she’s adopted and building a new relationship with a new mother, then laughing softly and shaking her head and looking straight at the camera and saying building new relationships seems to have been the theme of her Senior Year so far.

_‘I’ve built some new connections, I think. New people, new friends. Nice people, good people, you know? And … I hope that things pan out with some of my old people – one in particular - before we all go off to be adults in the big wide world. I hope so; I really do, ‘cos we’ve been through some shit together that person and I, since we were nine years old. But, at the end of the day, even if it doesn’t work out, I’ve got what I need. I’ve got who I need. I’ve got Nathan. We started our Senior Year letting each other down over and over but now, we’re stronger than ever, and when the so-called adults in our lives let us down, it doesn’t hurt like it used to because I’ve got him. And he’s got me. And nothing can break us. Nothing.’_


	9. School Shooting - But Not As We Know It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One marriage becomes public knowledge and another is proposed; a very familiar shooting - even some very familiar conversation - but with a very different outcome.

**Late February**

It’s absolute mayhem when they get off the old bus. Not your usual ribbing and yahooing mayhem, but blood-curdling screaming and panicked yelling and true fear-ridden _chaos_ mayhem.

“What the hell?” mutters Whitey.

“Lucas! Nathan!” Brooke’s flying across the grass towards them, pure panic on her face and a sob in her voice.

“Brooke? What’s going on?” Lucas asks as she pulls to a halt in front of them.  
“Somebody has a gun inside and they’re shooting.”

“My god!” Whitey exclaims then turns and gestures, yelling hard. “Everybody back on the bus!”

“I lost Peyton,” Brooke rushes out breathlessly. “I don’t know where she is. I mean, she was right there, and a shot went off and now she’s gone and I …”

“Look, what … hey … hey, Peyton was _shot_?” Nathan yells in her face, grabbing her arms.

“No,” Brooke shakes her head frantically then stops. “I don’t know! She was right behind me; we were by the library!”

“Haley’s in there too, I think,” Lucas suddenly shouts. “Tutoring.”

“ALL STUDENTS ON THE BUS! CODE RED, NOW!” their coach screams, his face red and his eyes popping.

Nathan catches his brother’s eye and shakes his head a little, his eyebrow raised in a silent question. Lucas gives a barely perceptible nod.

“LET’S MOVE!” Whitey yells out again. “Come on. Nathan, get your ass on that bus!”

Nathan turns sharply and breaks into a sprint across the grass.

“I got him, Coach!” Lucas yells, pretending to follow to stop his brother, leaving Brooke standing beside Whitey. Within seconds it becomes clear that the two Scott boys are in league and Whitey groans, then yells in a fruitless attempt to stop them.

“Boys! Boys!”

But they’re gone.

“Got your phone?” Nathan asks as they get to the door, reaching one hand out to hold Lucas back.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Charged up?”  
“Yeah but …”  
“On silent?”

Lucas looks blank and Nathan slaps his arm. “Seriously! You want to find this psycho, be creeping up on him and have your phone ring and give you away?”

“Who are you? Bruce Willis?” Lucas mumbles, checking his phone and switching it to silent.

“Alright then. Let’s go find our girls,” Nathan says as he opens the door.

Lucas looks back over his shoulder for a moment and sees Brooke standing alone, then Mouth steps up next to her, wraps an arm around her, then tries to usher her onto the bus. She resists, and Mouth stays at her side. Lucas looks across to his brother, and something shifts in his head.

“Let’s get our girls,” he agrees and opens the door.

They split up, and it seems that within minutes Lucas is following a trail of blood towards the library. He knows, just _knows_ , that he’s going to find either Peyton or Haley in there. When he rounds the corner of the bookshelves and sees the blonde, he feels he might collapse but he’s overcome with relief when she cries out. She’s alive.

“Peyton. Hey! Hey, it’s me,” he reassures her.

“Ow, my leg!” she exclaims painfully. “I got cut by some glass. Lucas, I lost Brooke. I’m sorry.”

“She’s fine. She’s fine but … okay, you’re not. Um … oh, we gotta get you somewhere safe, come on,” he says, grabbing her hand and trying to pull her up.

“No, I can’t. I can’t walk!” she sobs. “I tried,” she continues, gulping air, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Okay,” he soothes, making her cry harder.

“Okay,” Lucas states again, standing up.

“No, don’t leave me, please! Please,” she sobs.

“No, look, hey. I’m gonna go block the entrance, alright? We’ll … we’ll just … hide. Alright? We’ll wait this out, okay?”

Peyton nods, but she’s clearly terrified of every option.

“Listen to me, okay?” he says firmly.  
“Um-hm,” she replies weakly.

“I’m _not_ leaving you, Peyton. I won’t. I won’t, okay?” he repeats as he smooths her hair.

She nods and leans in briefly then he pushes up and heads to block the door, texting Nathan as he goes.

_Got p. Find h. Pls._

“I’m tired, Luke,” she says when he returns, her fingers fidgeting through her T-shirt fabric with the chain around her neck. Lucas looks at her, concern growing.

“Are you tired?” she asks in a small voice.

“Yeah, but you gotta stay awake, alright?” he insists. “Talk to me about … tell me about a good day.”

“We had a snow day … sixth grade. Do you remember?”

She smiles when he nods that he does.

“It was like this whole other world just came in overnight and took ours away. And Brooke, she came over. We made a snow fort – with a tunnel.”

Lucas chuckles at her and she responds weakly.

“And we stayed inside there all day. And it seemed so safe; like … everything was okay. Like everything our world was about to become … maybe we could just stop it. And stay little kids for one more day. But then it got cold … kinda like now.”

She pauses and nods.

“They’re gonna come now,” she adds in a small, resigned voice.

“Who?” he asks, confused.

“All of them; the reporters … and the psychologists and the analysts and the so-called experts. And they’re gonna try to make sense of this.”

He nods in understanding. She’s right.

“But they’re not gonna be able to. And even if we do make it outta here, we’re always gonna carry it with us. It’s never gonna be the same.”

She breathes raggedly and looks at him square on.

“It’s not glass, is it? In my leg.”

“No,” he agrees, shaking his head, “it’s a bullet. Now I may have to get you outta here, okay?”

She looks at him a little blankly, without agreement.

“But nothing will happen to you. I promise,” he continues.

“Lucas?”

“Yeah?”  
“Promise me something else?”

“Anything.”  
“Tell Nathan thank you and tell him I’ll love him forever,” she pleads.  
“Nope,” he denies firmly. “You can tell him that yourself when we get out of here.”  
“Luke. Please. Promise me.”

“I promise,” he assures her as she absentmindedly pulls her chain out from her shirt and fingers the blue stoned ring on it.  
“Peyt?”   
“Yeah?”  
“That’s not just a promise ring, is it?”

She shakes her head and smiles a little smile.

“Promise me something else,” she says slowly, all concentration.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he assures her. “About you being _engaged_.”  
“No. Not that,” she sighs, not denying it, thought it almost seems to him like she was about to, before she continues. “Promise me you’ll tell Haley you love her.”  
“I tell Hales that all the time, you know that,” he smiles, kissing her temple.  
“No. Tell her you’re _in_ love with her. Stop messing about and …”  
“No, Peyt,” he protests. “We’re just …”  
“Look at me!” she cries with a small burst of energy. “I’m bleeding out. Life is too short, Luke. Stop hiding your heart and _tell her_ , you idiot!”

He looks into her green eyes and shakes his head but he’s smiling softly. _Our girls_ , he’s thinking, having another moment of clarity and recognising that shift in his head for what it was. He’s in love with Haley. Always has been.

“Okay,” he finally agrees. “I give in. You’re right. I’ll tell her.”

“End it with Brooke first. Whatever your non-exclusive, messing about thing is. Do it properly. Do it right.”

He nods, noticing that she has, again, begun playing with the chain and the … _two_ rings on it? Two. One blue stoned. One plain gold band.

“C’mere,” she whispers. He leans down and she kisses him very softly on the corner of his mouth then again on his cheek.

“You’re amazing, Lucas Scott.”

“I bet you say that to all the Scott boys, Peyton Sawyer.”

“Just the best brother in law in the world,” she whispers with a tiny, very weak smile, “and my h …”

And her head lolls back.

He has no idea where the strength comes from, nor the cool head, but he’s carrying her out before he knows what he’s doing. In the hallway, after making far too much noise with a banging door, he sees … Jimmy Edwards? And … Keith?

Jimmy freaks out, babbling about the school being on lock down and Lucas pleads that she’ll die if he doesn’t get her out. Jimmy falters, mumbles that he didn’t mean to hurt her, that she’s the only cheerleader, just about the only girl, that ever even spoke to him. He waves the gun about and looks … baffled. Completely lost.

Then Keith’s cool, calm voice tells Jimmy it’s okay, that Keith will stay with him and that it’ll all be okay. Keith tells Lucas to go and, after a long, long moment, Jimmy nods. As Lucas walks past them, he sees Dan Scott stepping carefully down the corridor behind Jimmy and Keith, neither of whom have seen him.

Lucas tries to flash a warning look to his uncle, but Keith’s eyes are firmly trained on Jimmy, and the gun, and he waves Lucas on without moving his gaze. Lucas meets his father’s eyes; Dan nods firmly and also gestures Lucas on. As Lucas takes another step, Dan moves his hand behind his back and when it reappears, there’s a gun in it.

Lucas swallows and turns his head away and walks, unblinkingly to the double doors. He’s just trying to push one of them open with his shoulder, when a black suited up figure appears outside and meets his eyes through the narrow window. The SWAT team member looks him over through the window, hauls the door open and practically drags Lucas out, pushing the door closed behind him. There’s another three guys right there, all in black. Helmets. Visors. Boots. All with semi-automatics. One of them steps forward and very quickly pats Lucas down, working around Peyton’s limp body.

“What do you know?” the lead guy demands when his subordinate nods, taking a quick look back through that window.

“Three guys. Just around that corner. Jimmy Edwards, student. Has a gun. Looks really nervous. Scared. My uncle, Keith Scott. Unarmed. Trying to talk Jimmy down. And my fa … the mayor, Dan Scott. He was just approaching them. Has a gun too.”

“Keep walking, kid. You did good.”

“The other students?” he asks, his heart in his throat.

“Just keep walking,” the guy orders. “There’s another SWAT team going in on the other side. They’ll get them. Now _go!”_

Within moments, paramedics haul Peyton out of his arms and onto a gurney and he’s scrambling after it towards the waiting ambulance. Brooke races towards the ambulance too and as he looks across at her, he becomes aware of a group of seven or eight students tearing out of the next double doors along the path, accompanied by another four SWAT team guys.

Haley, supported by Skills on one side and Nathan on the other, is at the rear of the group. The brothers’ eyes meet over the mayhem and he sees Nathan’s knees buckle when the brunette spots the ambulance and the blond hair fanned out on the gurney pillow.

“I’m her best friend!” Brooke is shouting hysterically, when he follows Nathan’s gaze back to Peyton. “I’m going with her.”

Lucas pulls her back into his arms and makes way for Nathan, who’s pulling up after sprinting across the grass.

“Let Nathan go, Brooke,” Lucas says gently.  
“No! I’m her best friend. Best friend trumps boyfriend.”

She pulls away and steps towards the ambulance doors. Lucas looks at Peyton’s pale, slender fingers, still clasped around the necklace and to Nathan, whose large hand is also holding onto a chain around his neck. _Brother in law? Two rings?_

“Brooke,” he says much more firmly, pulling her back again. “Nathan’s going with her.”  
“I’m her …”  
“Brooke! I’ll take you soon. Let Nathan go.”

“I ... I’m her … she needs me,” Brooke sobs, collapsing a little against Lucas, who enfolds his arms around her.  
“She needs her hu … him … she needs Nathan,” Lucas says quietly, but firmly, catching his brother’s surprised look, then nodding at him, looking directly to where Nathan’s hands are clutching that chain, and its unseen attachment, through his shirt. Lucas then steps back, taking a sobbing Brooke with him, to allow Nathan access to the door.

The second the ambulance departs, Brooke starts dragging Lucas towards her car, shrieking at him that they need to go to the hospital, but a firm hand on his other side stops him. When he turns, it’s Karen, white faced and breathing hard. She’s clearly just run from wherever she’s left her car.

“Lucas!” she gasps out then take a deep breath. “Oh, thank God. Oh, my boy.”

He shrugs off Brooke’s hand and folds his mother into his arms, hanging on to her for dear life.

“Mom. Mom,” he sighs, the adrenaline flowing through him as it finally sinks in what’s going on. He drops to the kerb, feeling nauseous, and taking his mother down with him. They sit, arms around each other, both shaking a little.

“Lucas,” she pleads. “What’s happening?”

“Mom, it’s … it’s Ji … Jimmy,” he says in agony. “It’s Jimmy Edwards. He has a gun. He shot Peyton.”  
“Oh my God,” Karen breathes. “Oh Lord. Poor Mary. _Jimmy?”_  
“He didn’t mean to. I’m sure of it. He’s _petrified_. He … he let us go.”  
“You too? You were in there?”  
“I … went in to find Hales. Nathan went in to find Peyton. But … I found her. I found Peyton. He didn’t mean to shoot her. Jimmy, I mean. I know he didn’t.”

“He had a _gun_!” Karen exclaims.

“I know but …”  
He feels Brooke hovering impatiently and looks up.

“Mom, I … I told Brooke I’d take her to the hospital. To Peyton.”  
“You’re not driving anywhere. Either of you,” Karen instructs firmly. “I will drive you both, shortly.”  
“But …” Brooke begins.

“Brooke,” Karen warns. “We can do absolutely nothing for now. And I will not have either of you put in danger. None of us is fit to drive right now. Lucas,” she says, turning to her son, taking her face in his hands.  
“If you found Peyton, how did …?”  
“We hid. We waited, but ... she lost consciousness. I … I carried her out.”

“Oh Lucas, what if you’d …”  
“Mom,” he interrupts. “We … we saw Jimmy on the way out.”  
“You what? Lucas!”  
“He let us go, but … Mom …” he swallows.

“Lucas? What?” she asks, taking his hands.  
“Keith.”  
“Keith?”  
“Keith was there. He was trying to talk Jimmy down. And … then I saw Dan, too. He … Dan had a gun.”

There’s a deathly quiet for second as Karen takes that in, then a sudden disturbance near the door Lucas carried Peyton out of makes them both stand and turn, taking steps towards the action.

The SWAT team leader that Lucas spoke to is on the steps, removing his helmet and summoning over a police officer and a female paramedic, who listens for a few moments then nods. They watch nervously as she walks to a waiting ambulance and steps inside. When she emerges after a few moments, Karen and Lucas grasp at each other. She’s carrying a folded body bag in each hand. She issues instructions to another paramedic, who unloads first one, then a second gurney from the ambulance. They follow the police officer, now holding a camera, into the building.

For long, long minutes Karen Roe and Lucas Scott stand, hearts thumping, watching, hands clasped, as the medical officer disappears inside with the bags. As the SWAT team leader assists the other paramedic with a gurney, taking it into the building. As two other SWAT team members emerge and take the second gurney inside. After seemingly forever, the cop with the camera emerges then each gurney reappears, with a zipped-up bag on it, a paramedic at one end, a SWAT team member at the other.

“Oh God,” Karen whispers over and over again, gripping her son’s hands painfully. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

It seems an eternity, it _is_ an eternity, before that door opens again. Two SWAT team members emerge, the leader and the fourth, and walking between them, with blood on his face and slightly bent over, but walking nonetheless, is Keith Scott.

Karen Roe may have been a high school cheerleader, but she was never really an athlete. She was the girl that used every excuse in the book to get out of PE class. At that moment, though, she’s a track star. A world class sprinter. She’s across the grass and launching herself into Keith’s arms and no SWAT team on earth is going to stop her.

“Keith!” she sobs into his neck. “Keith.”

“Oh baby,” he breathes into her neck, tears making his cheeks slick.

“I thought …” she sobs.

“Don’t think,” he whispers, “Don’t think. Just tell me Lucas got out okay.”

She pulls away and points and Keith’s gaze follows her finger to where is Lucas and Brooke are standing, meets his nephew’s eyes, nods, then collapses to sit on the step. As Keith and Karen look on, Lucas turns and sees Haley standing alone, having just been released by a paramedic, who had helped her step awkwardly down from the back of the ambulance. Haley’s standing oddly and he knows she must have been hurt.

He bolts, hauling her into his arms when he gets to her and holding her so tight that she starts thumping his back.

“Geeze, Lucas, I just got cleared,” she says breathlessly. “You’re gonna put me back into that ambulance.”

He releases her, takes her face between his hands, shakes his head, laughs as she reaches up to brush a tear off his cheek, then pulls her against him again.

“Hales,” he breathes. “Hales.”

“I’m fine,” she murmurs against his cheek. “Just some grazes and bruises. Nathan shoved me under a desk when we realised it was Jimmy. He … Luke, Nathan stood between the gun and me.”  
“He was there? Jimmy?” Lucas asks incredulously, not quite taking in that his brother may have put his life on the line to save Lucas’ best friend.   
“In the room with us for ages … before we knew it was him the whole time. I …” she breaks down and he gathers her back into his arms, hushing her and telling her they can talk later.

 

 

“Mr Scott?” an approaching paramedic interrupts the two on the steps. “We need to check you out, Sir.”  
“One minute,” Keith replies.

“Sir?”  
“ _One minute_ ,” Keith repeats firmly.

“Karen,” he says, pulling her down to sit next to him.

“What happened?” she asks, winding her fingers into his, leaning on him, turning their clasped hands into her lap and squeezing them between her knees.

“Later. Later. But I have to tell you one thing. And ask you something.”  
“Okay.”  
“The one thing I have to tell you is that I have a ring in a dresser drawer at my place. It’s been there for a decade, since Lucas was eight years old. And the one thing I have to ask you is if you’ll wear it.”  
“Wh … what?”  
“It’s too short, Karen,” he says adamantly. “Life’s just too damned short and we’ve waited too damned long. Marry me.”

“Keith …”  
He wrests one hand away from her, tilts her chin up and stares her down.

“C’mon,” he whispers desperately. “Marry me, Karen.”

“Yes. Oh God, Keith, of course! Yes!”

He tips his head back and laughs, then goes to kiss her but she pulls away.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“After the paramedic checks you out, buster!”

He shakes his head but allows her to help pull him up and they walk, together, across to the waiting medic. Miraculously, he checks out perfectly. Not even a scratch. The blood on his face belongs to either Jimmy or Dan and the medic wipes it all carefully away, after calling a police officer over to take photographs and to take a swab and drop it in an evidence bag.

An hour later, after giving contact information to the police – a conversation during which they were joined by a tentative, mousy haired girl called Abby who quietly apologised for interrupting and stammered to the officer that she’d been holed up in a classroom behind closed blinds and had seen everything in that hallway and who should she talk to? - the five of them – Karen, Keith, Lucas, Brooke and Haley – are pulling into the hospital carpark in Karen’s car. Brooke had not even attempted to disguise her impatience and, more than once had tried to get into her Beetle, but after the second attempt, Keith had forced her keys out of her hand and pocketed them, telling her he knew she was bolshie but he doubted that she’d dare to put her hand in his front trouser pocket. She’d protested and he’d softened his frown and placed his hands on her shoulders.

_“Brooke, after an hour, there probably isn’t even any news yet. And Nathan’s with her. The hospital, or Nathan, will contact her father. Just … well, I know you won’t relax. But try and breathe. We’ll get you there.”_

They ask for the details they need, and are directed to the surgery department, where they find Nathan alone and pacing.

Brooke’s faster than all of them and is in front of Nathan in an instant.

“How is she? Nathan, how is she?” she demands, clutching at his arm.  
“I don’t know!” he yells, the anxiety of being there alone for the last hour and more, finally making him crack.

“Have you called Larry? They’ll tell _him_ ,” Brooke rushes out, assuming they won’t tell Nathan anything because he’s not a relative.

“Um,” Nathan starts, “yeah. I called him. He’ll get here tomorrow, he thinks.”

“They’ll tell _me_ ,” Brooke states firmly, starting to look around for someone to harass, “I’ll make them.”  
Karen and Keith approach Nathan cautiously; he’s _her_ son’s brother and _his_ nephew, but neither of them feel like they know this boy well at all. Neither of them is quite sure what to say, how to handle him. Keith, especially, is painfully aware, that he has responsibilities to Nathan; even more so now. But that can wait. He approaches his nephew, while quietly suggesting to Karen that she handle Brooke, who’s becoming more agitated by the second.

“I have to speak to a doctor!” the young brunette shrieks. “I’ll make them tell me something …”

“Brooke, sweetie,” Karen assures her, “it’s like for Nathan; if you’re not a relative, they won’t. We’ll have to wait for Larry Sawyer, I think.”

“No,” Nathan finally cuts in. “It’s not that they wouldn’t tell me. There’s just nothing _to_ tell yet.”

“Weren’t they just … um …?” Karen stops, unsure how to phrase this.  
“Fobbing me off? No.”

“Nathan, why would they tell you?” Keith asks gently.

Nathan looks up and meets Lucas’ eyes. His brother steps in, grasps his shoulder supportively and nods.

“Because I told them she’s my wife,” Nathan tells his uncle, oblivious to Brooke’s gasp and Karen’s aghast response.

“Nathan,” Keith begins, not quite taking in that Nathan’s not fabricating this for expedience.

“Because she _is_ my wife,” Nathan clarifies.

The six of them – an eighteen-year-old husband, his half-brother, his half-brother’s non-exclusive sort of girlfriend, his half-brother’s best friend and maybe (probably) love of his life who doesn’t yet know that, and two somewhat shell-shocked adults – sit, without saying much, for another hour, until, at long, long last, a weary-looking surgeon appears and heads straight to them.

“Family of Peyton Sawyer?”

Nathan stands and steps forward confidently, far more confidently than he feels. The woman’s face is inscrutable, giving away nothing.

“Me,” he says. “I’m her husband.”

She blinks for moment, looks towards Keith and Karen, who both nod.

“Mr …?”  
“Scott.”

“Alright, Mr Scott. Peyton, um … your wife, is going to be fine.”  
All of his apparent strength goes, in an instant, and he literally slides down the wall, not stopping until he’s sitting on the floor, his knees tucked into his chest, looking up at the surgeon.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” she smiles, leaning down to touch his shoulder momentarily. “We’ve removed the bullet. It was deep and she’d lost a bit of blood. She’s going to have to do a lot of physical therapy, and there’ll be some scarring. But if she does the work, she will get full use of her leg back and she _will_ be fine.”

He nods, gulps.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“My pleasure. This is what we’re here for.”  
“Can I see her?” he asks hopefully, looking up, a little colour returning to his face.

“Soon. She’s in recovery. She’ll wake up soon and be groggy for a while. Can I suggest you all go and get some air and maybe something to eat? Or coffee? Give us another hour?”

“I …” Nathan begins, but Keith is at his side and pulling him to his feet.

“C’mon, son,” he says, then winces a little to himself at his use of that word. “Let’s do as the doctor suggests. We’ll come back in an hour, and you’ll go in first. We’ll give you your time with her first.”

There’s a tangible atmosphere of stunned silence hovering over the group as they gather at a round table in the corner of the hospital cafeteria, all nursing terrible coffee, with a plate of virtually untouched brownies in front of them. They’re not a patch on Karen’s and none of them have the stomach to do more than occasionally break a tiny piece off and chew it absentmindedly.

Karen Roe sits between her son and the man she’s just agreed to marry. She’ll tell the blond Scott about that later, when they’re alone. She has no doubt that he’ll be thrilled. She also has no doubt that he’ll feel guilty for his happiness on this terrible, terrible day. A day that her son’s brother doesn’t yet know has claimed his father, _their_ father; news that the five of them that do know have somehow silently agreed to keep to themselves. For now.

Keith Scott sits between his brand-new fiancée and the younger by three months of his nephews; torn between some stark images from that school hallway that flash into his brain at intervals, the quiet strength of the woman next to him, a woman he’s loved his whole life, it seems, and the knowledge that his brother’s son, whom he barely knows, is going to need his uncle to step up. His nephew; his nephew who is married at eighteen and Keith wonders if there’s further news about that to come out? Is that fiery tempered blonde cheerleader - that his other nephew, more like son, soon to be stepson, had a bit of a crush on for years (a crush that hid the fact that actually he was in love with his best friend) - pregnant? Is Nathan repeating his father’s mistakes? No, not mistakes. Nathan is his nephew. He was a little shit, well, a 6’2” shit, or had been. But something seems different about him now. And no child should be labelled a mistake. And if he’s going to be a father, with his high school girlfriend, and has made her his high school _wife_ , then Nathan’s already stepped up more than Dan ever did.

Nathan just breathes. Every so often he sends a quiet thought out to … wherever. He’s _not_ praying. They’re just _thoughts_. _Thank you_ thoughts. _Oh God, I have to face her father and he’s going to find out_ thoughts. _What would I have done if_ … thoughts.

Brooke Davis sits next to the boy she’s known since she was eight, or nine, the boy who has apparently married her best friend and neither of them told _her_. And she wonders how it got to this. Where her best friend could get _married_ and not tell her. And she knows the answer to that; she does. Brooke Penelope Davis knows Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer. And she knows that, deep down, there was only ever going to be _one_ boy for Peyton. Under all the sarcasm, and the angst, and the loud loser rock, and the dark sketches and the flippant tone, it was always Nathan for Peyton. And Brooke tried to get in the way of that. But, for all her many charms, Brooke didn’t stand a chance. And she sits, and muses over the last few weeks and months, and she thinks about the subtle, and not so subtle, differences in Nathan and in Peyton over that time and she looks across the table and watches as Lucas gazes into the eyes of Haley James, who sits between them. And Brooke Davis instantly makes a decision.

Haley James has always been a smart girl. Most would say a _very_ smart girl. She has always been pretty good at figuring out anything to do with maths, or science, and she’s always loved English and history. Haley James, although almost a whole year younger than most of her cohort, will probably be valedictorian and has always been what the subject teachers, other than her PE teacher, call an all-rounder. This year, Haley James has learnt something that she didn’t find in a book or a classroom or even in a lab; she’s discovered that people aren’t always what they seem. She’s discovered that jocks can be surprisingly perceptive and, when someone runs amok at school with a gun, jocks can be a source of great strength, especially when they’re pushing you under a desk and staying in front of you, between you and the gun. She’s also learnt that angsty, sarky cheerleaders can be kind -hearted and can make a great friend. And, most surprising of all, Haley James has learnt that sometimes your very _best_ friend, a broody blond boy who’s been teasing you and fighting the world off with you since you were both in grade school, is actually a whole lot more than that.

Lucas Scott doesn’t know what the hell’s going on with his Mom and his uncle but it’s _something_. They keep stealing little looks at each other. It’s both weird and not, all at once. And, when he just looked up a minute ago and caught Brooke looking at him quizzically, he’s not at all sure what the look that she gave him meant, but he suddenly isn’t all that concerned about the conversation he knows he’ll be having with her in the very near future. A conversation about not really being a _non-exclusive_ kind of guy. A conversation about being a _finally admitting your best friend might be the one_ kind of guy. He gets the feeling that that conversation might be okay. He gets the feeling that Broke Davis might become a really, really good friend.

That’s the scene that greets Deb Scott when she rushes towards reception and something makes her stop and look into the cafeteria. She knows Dan is dead. The only other thing she knows is that both Peyton and Nathan are in the hospital. When she sees her son, amongst the group of six, she takes a massive, shuddering breath in and her shoulders relax a fraction. She gathers herself and heads towards them, not really knowing what she’s walking into.

When she meets her brother-in-law’s eyes, she knows immediately that Nathan doesn’t know, and she feels completely at a loss.

Keith stands, rests his hand momentarily on Karen’s shoulder and then asks Nathan to come with him.

“What? Why?” his nephew asks, shaking his head to bring himself back to the moment.  
“Nathan, please,” Keith says.

“Fine. I need to get back upstairs, anyway,” Nathan decides, then halts when he sees his mother.

“Mom?”  
“Nathan,” she starts.

“Look, I get it,” he says. “I know you’re shocked, and I know it’s … big … and it’ll take a bit of getting used to, but …”  
Deb looks puzzled. Maybe she read Keith’s look wrong; maybe Nathan _does_ know? And is trying to comfort her?

“Um,” Keith interrupts, taking Nathan’s elbow in one hand and Deb’s in the other and guiding them both out of the cafeteria and out through the front door of the hospital.

“I need to get upstairs to Peyton,” Nathan protests.

“Oh God,” Deb says, relief clear, “she’s okay too?”  
“She will be,” her son replies.

“Good,” Deb says firmly. “I … I just knew you were both here. I didn’t know which one of you was injured … or … worse …”

“Mom? I don’t get … you’re not mad?”

“Mad?”

“That we got married,” he replies, not comprehending why she isn’t reading him the riot act.

“You _what_!?” Deb gasps, dropping to the bench they’re standing next to. “You got … what?”

“Oh shit,” Nathan utters, then drops in front of her. “Mom, I thought you must’ve … I’m sorry.”

“Nathan, you’re _eighteen_ ,” she sighs.

He’s more than a little shocked that she isn’t ranting at him but, at this point, he supposes that she’s just relieved that he’s not … dead. He moves to sit next to her and rests his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward a little and looking at her.

“Mom, can you … can you try not to be disappointed in me? I … I just love her. I had to. I had to marry her.”  
“Now? You had to get married _now_? Is …?”  
“No,” he says, answering the question that’s been in the back of Keith’s mind too. “Peyton’s not ... _we’re_ not pregnant.”  
“Okay,” Deb sighs. “Well, that’s … something. Couldn’t you just have gotten engaged?”  
“We did,” he says, a little coyly.

“When?”

“Um, back … after that really big fight that you commented on? The one when …” he glances at Keith and shrugs.

“Right,” his mother replies, with a wry smile. “The one when you decided to be _different.”  
_“Yeah. That one.”

“Well, that’s different, alright,” Deb says drily.

“Mom?” he asks, looking at her, stunned by her humour. “Are you … are you _okay_ with this?”

“Oh Nathan,” she sighs. “I … I have no _idea_ if I’m okay with this. But …”

“But what?” he asks, rising to his feet, as he senses something pass between his mother and his uncle. “What’s going on? What aren’t you saying?”

“Nathan,” Keith starts, but Nathan steps back, his hands up.

“What’s …? What is it? Are you two …?” he gestures between them.

“No!” his mother exclaims. “God … _no_. Nathan, can you … can you sit?”  
“No,” he says, planting his feet, crossing his arms across his chest. “You need to tell me what the hell is going on.”

Deb’s mouth opens and shuts, and nothing comes out. She swallows and tries again, but still nothing. Keith rests a hand on her shoulder and turns to his nephew.

“Nathan,” he says quietly, “after you left in the ambulance, with Peyton, there were more shots fired.”  
“What?” Nathan says, spinning to face Keith.

“Jimmy Edwards shot himself.”  
Deb gasps; she hasn’t heard the details. The officer that knocked on her front door an hour ago didn’t have them; just the bare essentials that her husband had been fatally shot, that her son was at the hospital and that she’d be contacted in due course to … identify Dan’s, the mayor’s, body.

Nathan frowns. He knows that’s not what this … thing, this _atmosphere_ … is about.

“And?”

“Your father was there too, Nathan,” Keith continues, gently. “Jimmy, Dan and me. In the hallway.”  
“And?”  
“They both had guns. Jimmy shot himself and Dan … Dan panicked and fired in response.”

“So, that kid, Jimmy, was shot twice?”  
“No, son,” Keith answers compassionately, moving his other hand to take Nathan’s elbow. “Dan’s gun misfired.”

“What are you saying?” Nathan asks with an alarming calm. “Mom? What’s he saying?”

“He’s gone, Nathan,” Deb replies simply, standing to take his hand, wrestling it away from his chest. “Honey, your Dad … he’s gone.”

He pulls his hand away from her, steps back, looks between her and Keith.

“You knew?” he says to Keith. “You’ve been sitting next to me for … an hour, more … another hour upstairs and you _knew_ … this _whole time_. You fucking knew and kept it from me!”  
“Nathan,” Keith starts.

“No. Get away from me! Get _the hell_ away from me!” he yells, anger and pain and confusion racing over him in a tidal wave. He needs … he needs … he needs _her_. He needs Peyton. He takes a step back and holds his arms up as if to fend them off. “I’m going upstairs. I’m going back to Peyton. Don’t come. Either of you.”

It’s another hour or so before he speaks to Peyton, or at least, before she speaks to him. He just sits, holding her hand between his, occasionally moving one of his to smooth her hair back. Or to place a kiss on her knuckle, or her temple, or her cheek. Or to say something crazy like _God, you’ll hate the colour of these walls when you wake up._

She’s not unconscious, a kindly nurse has explained; she’s sleeping. Every so often she murmurs in her sleep, but she doesn’t seem to be too restless, and a couple of times her eyelids flutter a little, and his heart races, waiting for her to open her eyes. But she doesn’t. Not yet. Until … until she does.

He’s been at her side for that hour, just waiting and then he looks up and her eyes are open, and she smiles a tiny, crooked little smile and it’s all okay. She’s had a bullet pulled out of her leg and a bucket of blood poured into her and his father’s dead and he really doesn’t know what the hell to do with all that, but she smiles and she’s alive and it’s okay.

“Hi,” she says. “You’re okay?”

All he can do is nod, because his throat has just clamped shut and dammit, he’s crying.

“I love you,” she says.

He nods again.

“Is everyone else okay?” she whispers. “Did they all get out?”

He doesn’t know what to say. She means their friends; he knows that. She means Lucas, and Haley, and … she’s always been able to read him, though, and right now is no exception.

“Nathan? Who?” she asks anxiously. “Who didn’t get out?”

“Um … the kid with the gun, Jimmy … um … Edwards? And …”

“And?”

“Babe …”  
“Who?” she insists, her heart in her throat. _Brooke, Haley, Lucas. Brooke, Haley, Lucas. Brooke, Haley, Lucas._ The names thump along with her heartbeat.

“My Dad,” he whispers, like he’s admitting to a sin.

“Your _Dad_?”

He swallows hard, and she’s pushing herself over a bit on the bed and somehow half dragging him up next to her and he’s in her arms … safe. And he sobs until he sleeps.

 

It’s early afternoon the next day when Larry Sawyer’s raised voice can be heard at the nurse’s station down the hallway from his daughter’s hospital room. She’s asleep, and she doesn’t hear it. Nathan, on the other hand, does. And he’s well and truly prepared for this moment. Yesterday, it had him worried sick. Today, after a flying visit to his parents’ … well, to his _mother’s_ home, now … for a shower, a shave and a change of clothes, he’s more than ready to take on his father-in-law.

When Nathan approaches the nursing station, Larry is in full flight, asking, irrationally, what the hell do they mean they treated his daughter without contacting him for his permission?  The nurse, unshakeable, tells him that his daughter’s husband signed the required paperwork, and that, in any case, they had been dealing with a gunshot wound and had not had time to mess around. Larry’s shoulders relax.

“Great. Now I understand,” he breathes. “My apologies. You’ve got the wrong patient. My daughter isn’t married. It’s _Sawyer_.”

“Yes sir,” the nurse replies, spotting Nathan approaching. “ _Peyton_ _Elizabeth_ Sawyer. Her husband signed the paperwork.”

Larry turns and sees Nathan, narrows his eyes.

“Nathan,” he says suspiciously.  
“Mr Sawyer.”  
“Tell me that you lied to these people and did what you had to do to get my daughter treated quickly.”  
“I can’t do that, sir,” Nathan replies calmly.

“And why the hell not?”  
“Because I would be lying if I said that.”

“You and Peyton got married?”  
“Yes sir, we did.”

“What sort of man … what sort of _boy,”_ Larry spits out, “… does that? Marries an eighteen-year-old girl without talking to her father first?”

“I guess, Mr Sawyer,” Nathan says strongly, “the kind of _man_ that’s spent the last two and a half years being there for her and caring for her while her _father_ was out to sea.”

“Cared for her by _what_?” Larry scoffs. “Breaking her heart over and over again?”

“That was before,” Nathan says calmly. “That’s all over.”

“I’ll tell you what’s over, _kid_ ,” Peyton’s father bites out. “This _marriage_ is over.”

Larry Sawyer brushes past Nathan and stalks towards his daughter’s room. She’s just waking up and looks up expecting to see Nathan.

“Dad?” she smiles in surprise, then groans a little as she tries to sit up.

“Mrs Scott, I presume?” he accuses from the doorway.

“Dad …” she begins, her gaze swinging to Nathan, then back to her father.

“Don’t even try and justify this, Peyton,” he fires back. “How could you possibly think it’s alright to do this without discussing it with me?”

“I needed your permission to get shot?” she quips.

“Peyton Elizabeth! This is _not_ a laughing matter!”

“You’re right, _Daddy_ ,” she bites back sarcastically. “It’s _not_ at all funny. Some disturbed, broken kid brought a _gun_ to school and _I_ got shot and that kid shot _himself_ and Dan was _killed_ , and you’re complaining that I don’t confide in my absentee father enough.”

Larry reels back, stepping into Nathan and turning.

“Dan _Scott_ …?” Larry asks needlessly. “I … son, I’m …”  
“Forget it,” Nathan interrupts, moving into the room to resume his seat next to Peyton’s bed.

On the back foot, Larry hovers, then follows Nathan’s example, and pulls up a second seat, sitting on the other side of her bed.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Larry says with a carefully controlled tone, glancing at Nathan, who nods once. “However …” he starts again, turning back to Peyton. “Marriage? At eighteen? To someone who has done nothing but … without any …”  
“What, Dad?” Peyton asks. “ _Consultation_ with you? Sharing life changing information?”

“Yes,” Larry nods. “At the very least.”  
“Like how you waited until I was _seventeen, nearly eighteen_ , to tell me I’m adopted. Oh wait,” she laughs sarcastically, placing her finger against her chin as if pondering. “ _That’s_ right! You _didn’t_! You waited for me to find out from a stranger, who turned out to be my _other_ mother.”

“Chicken,” he sighs.

“No, Dad. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry you found out this way. But that’s the only thing I’m sorry for. I didn’t … we didn’t want to tell you over the phone, or webcam. We wanted to tell you face to face, and that’s why we didn’t tell anyone else either. You deserved to be the first to know, with Deb and … with Dan. I’m sorry it didn’t work out that way, but I’m not sorry for marrying Nathan. And I never will be.”

“Honey …”

“Dad, did you know Nathan went into that school for me? He knew there was someone in there with a gun, and he went in to get me.”

Her father looks across the bed at Nathan. “You got her out?”

“No. I …” Nathan stops, drops his head into his hands.

“Lucas found me first, Dad. Nathan found some others. He found Haley and Skills and some others. Lucas carried me out. But Nathan’s a hero, too; he protected Haley and …”  
“Alright,” Larry says resignedly, taking her hand. “Alright. Enough. Just tell me you’re okay, and what happens when you get out of here.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some important conversations happen at Dan Scott's funeral, the two most important men in Peyton's life disappear on her but Skills' debut for the Ravens saves the day.

**Still late February**

The day of Dan Scott’s funeral is clear but chilly and the funeral attendees are well wrapped in woollens and coats for the outdoor service and reception. He was the mayor so, of course, the turnout is huge. The mayoral office and town hall close for the day, with all staff attending the service. His parents, May and Royal, attend, hovering about Keith, Deb and Nathan.

Midway through the post service garden gathering, Keith tires of their platitudes and abandons them to be with Karen and Lucas, pulling the two of them in, one in each arm, and vowing to himself that he may never have two hundred people at his funeral, but he’ll be the best husband Karen could wish for and the best father Lucas could want. He was grateful for Lucas’ enthusiastic response to the news that Keith and Karen would marry _(‘No shit? About damned time. Sorry, Mom, but I’m 18 and ‘damned’ really isn’t that much of a swear word.’)_

He watches as a taxi pulls up and the doors open to reveal Peyton, struggling to get out of the car with her crutches, and Larry Sawyer, rushing around the back of the car to assist her. It’s clear that Peyton’s Dad is not impressed that they’re there, and it’s equally clear - when Nathan spots her and literally runs from his grandparents to her side - that Nathan is beyond pleased that she is.

When Brooke approaches Keith, Karen and Lucas and quietly asks Lucas if they can speak privately, Keith gestures to his nephew to go. He knows what an ‘I’m breaking up with you face’ looks like and Brooke’s wearing it. Somehow the fact that they’re at his brother’s funeral doesn’t seem to Keith like an inappropriate place for this to happen. He doesn’t really know what Lucas has been up to with Brooke but from the start he was sure it would run its course before too long. As he watches the two speaking some distance off, he sees only calm words and gentle nods and even a shared chuckle. The two hug and Lucas smooths Brooke’s hair and kisses her on the cheek and she tilts her head and wrinkles her nose and walks away. Lucas shoves his hands deep into his trouser pockets and surveys the crowd, his eyes coming to rest on Nathan and Peyton, who he then walks towards.

Keith considers, for a moment, the parallels between two generations - Dan Scott, Keith Scott and Karen Roe then Lucas Scott, Nathan Scott and Peyton Sawyer – then takes Karen’s hand in his and suggests they go find a drink.

“Hey Hopalong,” Lucas says as he nears Peyton and Nathan.

“Oh, funny, Lucas,” Peyton replies sarcastically.

“Lucas?” her Dad asks. “I … think I owe you a huge thank you,” he continues as he shakes Lucas’ hand. “I … it’s good to finally meet the man who saved my little girl’s life.”  
“Oh,” Lucas demurs, “I … I’m not sure I … I mean, Nathan and I, we both …”

“You’re good men,” Larry interrupts, looking between them. “Both of you. Nathan, I’d like to speak to your Mom, if you know where she is?  I think it’s high time I speak to my daughter’s mother-in-law and pass on my condolences.”

Nathan nods and walks away with Larry, leaving the two blonds together.

“Well,” Lucas shrugs, “I’m glad you’re going to be okay, Peyton.”

“Yeah,” she smiles softly, “thanks to you.”

“Sister-in-law,” he teases lightly, nudging her with his shoulder.

“Brother-in-law,” she laughs. “How weird are we all?”

“Pretty weird,” he nods.

“So … you done what I told you to yet?”

“What you told me to?”  
“You know, when I was bleeding out and we both thought I was _dying,”_ she says overtly dramatically _, “_ and _you_ made _me_ a promise that you’d talk to Brooke and to Haley?”

“I’ve talked to Brooke,” he confirms.  
“You have?” she asks, clearly surprised.  
“Well, she talked to me,” he admits.

“Did you tell her the truth though?”  
“Yeah, she deserves that, right?”

“She does. So, when are you going to talk to Haley?”  
“Talk to Haley about what?” says the very one in question as she nears them, holding a plate in her hand. “I brought you a plate, Peyton,” she says, “I thought maybe you’d want to sit down and rest that leg? There’s a bench just along the path a little, and …”  
“Are you mothering me, Haley James?” Peyton interrupts. “’Cos, you know, I’m already on to my second mother!”

“You want the plate or not?” Haley laughs.

“You know what? That would be great, thank you, Haley. Hospital food was awful and I’m starving.”  
The three work their way along the path a little, Peyton settles herself on the bench placing the crutches to one side and takes the plate from Haley then looks up, turning from Haley to Lucas.

“Now, Luke,” she says with a mischievous look, “what was that thing you needed to tell Haley again?”

His mouth drops open and his cheeks redden, and he splutters.

“I … you … _Peyton!”_

“Yes Luke?” she says, all innocence.

“You can’t just …”  
“Sure, I can,” Peyton says with a nonchalant shrug. “Haley, take Lucas for a walk? He needs to talk to you.”

“Peyton,” he whines.

“Shoo!” she says, waving dismissively and just a little regally with her hand. “Off you go. Tell her or I will.”

She pops a couple of grapes in her mouth, grins widely and shoos him again, then turns her attention to scanning the gardens looking for Nathan, who she spots standing next to Deb, talking to Larry.

Nathan looks so handsome in his dark suit, she thinks, though also tired and drawn. He’s spent hours at the hospital with her over the last few days, schoolbooks and papers in tow, leaving only to sleep and to help his mother with the funeral plans. After the initial outpouring of grief and confusion, he’d refused to talk about his father anymore, and had been pulling away from her, she thought. Yes, he was physically there, in her hospital room, for hours at a time, but he spoke little and wouldn’t be drawn into conversation, telling her that he was fine, he was okay, he needed to concentrate on this essay, or finish this chapter. He was hiding, she knew. After the funeral, after things started to quieten down, she’d make sure he talked. Right now, she’d just keep an eye on him.

As she watches, she sees Nathan spot Keith, excuse himself from Larry and Deb and stalk up to his uncle and start talking animatedly before he even comes to a stop. Nathan looks determined and it certainly looks like things could get heated. Keith, ever calm, ever kind, places his hands on Nathan’s shoulders and speaks calmly. Nathan jabs at Keith’s chest with his hand, shakes his head, jabs again. As Peyton watches, Deb joins them, Keith steps back, allows his hands to drop and takes a deep breath in, then holds up a hand placatingly, and nods. Nathan waits and first Deb says a few words, then Keith speaks for a few moments, intensely and apparently carefully. Then he stops and waits, and Nathan stands, eyes closed, for long seconds, before he shakes his head, waves his arms around wildly and beats at Keith’s hands when the older man tries to calm him down.

Nathan shoves Keith away firmly, turns on his heel and looks wildly around the garden until his eyes find Peyton’s. She struggles to her feet and in an instant he’s at her side.

“Nathan? What … what’s going on?”

“I’ve gotta go.”  
“Go?”  
“I have to get out of here,” he mutters, his face ashen and his voice tense.

“Do what you need to do,” she says, her fingers scrunching his jacket lapel. “Nathan? I …”  
“It shouldn’t have …” he says, shaking his head, barely meeting her gaze, his eyes dark and tormented. “I … you … it’s just not … you shouldn’t have … he’s _dead!_ And it’s …”

“Nate,” she sighs, resting her forehead on his shoulder for a moment. He takes her hand off his jacket and pushes her back.

“I have to get out of here,” he repeats. “I … sorry …” and he turns and walks away without once looking back.

 _It’s okay,_ she tells herself. _It’s okay. He needs time. It’s shock. He needs a few hours on his own._

An hour later she is somehow unsurprised when her father approaches and with a rather embarrassed look on his face, tells her he’s just taken a call from his boss and he’s going to head back out to sea that night. He makes the usual noises about being sorry and asking her if she’s sure she’ll be okay, and even using the fact that Nathan is around to take care of her to justify his abandoning her – again. She’s so gutted that she doesn’t even bother asking him to stay one night, tonight, her first night out of hospital. She just tells him she’ll be fine and allows him to hug her and watches as he leaves. Again.

 

Nathan doesn’t turn up that night. Or the next day. Or the day after that. Deb calls her looking for him and sounds, as you’d expect, deeply concerned. Lucas and Haley have heard nothing.

After the sixth day, still with no word from Nathan, his broken words at the funeral having echoed in her skull nonstop, Peyton’s interpreting his absence as him blaming her for Dan’s death.

“He’s dead and it’s … _your fault_ ,” is how her brain completes that sentence and it plays in her head on an endless loop.

She falls asleep to the sound of his voice. _“He’s dead. And it’s your fault.”_

She wakes to the sound of his voice. _“He’s dead. And it’s your fault.”_

Her own words on that stupid time capsule torment her too – _nothing can break us_ – well that was tempting fate, wasn’t it? He’s been gone for six days. His mother hasn’t heard from him. No one’s heard from him. Seems they can be broken after all, by a screwed-up kid with a gun.

He’s missed several practices and two games, the first of which the Ravens lost; badly. So badly that they’ve lost the lead in the league.

Maybe the only tiny ray of light in this is that the night before the second game, late, Brooke had appeared in Peyton’s living room, the first time in weeks and weeks that she’d stepped foot in the house. Okay, so it was ostensibly to find out if Peyton knew where Nathan was and if he was going to back for the game the next night, but still ... Peyton had merely blinked at her then turned and crutched her way into the kitchen.

Brooke had been at a bar with Rachel, the brunette said as she trailed behind Peyton.

“Awesome,” Peyton had said drily. “People die, Nathan is MIA and Brooke goes out drinking.”

“MIA? You … don’t know where he is?”  
“Brooke, what do you want?”

“I just want to know if Nathan is playing tomorrow.”

“Why?” Peyton asks drily without turning around to face Brooke. “So that you can make another move on him? From the side-line this time while I’m stuck here on crutches?”

“Peyton …”  
“Or maybe so your slutty friend Rachel can have another crack at him?”

“Peyton!”  
“What, Brooke?” she sighs, finally turning around to face the brunette.

“No one is going after Nathan. It is abundantly clear to everyone that he is never gonna even look at anyone else again, alright?”

“I …”  
“Now do you know if he’s playing tomorrow night?”

“How the hell _would_ I know?”  
“You’re his girlfriend. No … back up. You’re his _wife_ ,” Brooke says with a sad tone and a distant look.  
“Yeah. Well, I don’t know where he is, and I don’t know when he’ll be back ... or _if_ he’ll be back.”

“Peyton …”  
“Brooke, just … leave me alone. Like you have since I was shot. Since you have for weeks actually, since you got caught out for sleeping with my boyfriend.”

“Peyton …”

“And I swear to God if you even think about saying ‘but you were broken up’, I’ll …  you know what I asked Lucas when he found me? I asked if he knew if you were okay! I said I’d lost you and I didn’t know if you were safe. Why they hell did I bother, Brooke?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” Brooke says gently. “And because I’m yours.”

“Really?”

“Yeah P. Sawyer, really. I just … can we …?”  
“Forget the last few months?”  
“Can we?”

“I dunno.”  
“Can we try?”

Peyton merely shrugs and drains the water from her glass and leans heavily over the bench.

“Why are you so desperate to know if he’s playing tomorrow?”

“I went to this bar in Wilmington…”  
“With Rachel.”  
“Yes, but that’s … anyway I overheard a couple guys talking – they’re from the team the guys are playing tomorrow night. They sounded really cocky; saying that they had the game plan to beat a full -strength Ravens team but they’ve heard Nathan’s out and the Ravens are tanking without him so they’re sure they’ll win. This is … Peyton, the guys have to win this game to be sure to get the best draw in the playoffs. If they don’t, it’s last year all over again. And they’ve worked too hard to …”

“Go to Lucas.”  
“What? I … I don’t really …”  
“Get over yourself Brooke, if you care about the guys winning that game, you need to call Lucas and tell him what’s going on. You need to tell him to pull Skills in and they need to shake up their own game.”  
“Shake it up? Shouldn’t they …”  
“No. If the other team has a plan to beat the Ravens, the Ravens need to not _be_ the Ravens. Now go! Go to Lucas and tell him what you just told me.”

 

That was two nights ago.

Peyton assumes Brooke did as she told her to and went to Lucas, because while she couldn’t bear to go to the gym (and either see Nathan lead the team out on to court - because that would mean it was just _her_ he’d left – or see the team come on without him – which would mean he was still out there somewhere away from _here_ and not just away from _her_ ), Peyton had listened to Mouth’s pre-game commentary last night and she’d heard him excitedly announce the debut of Skills Taylor in for Nathan Scott.

She’d laid on the couch in the dark, the game commentary coming from her tinny laptop speakers and hoped beyond hope that the guys could pull it off. And God, it was close. So so close. It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t orderly but yes, at one down and with mere seconds on the clock, Mouth was excitedly calling a move he’d seen Skills pull out down on the River Court more times than he could count. A little bit Harlem Globetrotters and a little bit River Court kid, it was also _all_ Skills, and no one saw it coming. No one except Mouth, whose voice rose an octave as he excitedly called the moves, and Lucas, who stood back, his hands on his hips and grinned as his old friend brought them home, with a scrappy street-style side stepping layup, to win by one.

 

 

Lucas is shooting hoops under the lights at the River Court a couple of nights after the too close for comfort game, when he becomes aware that someone else is there. When his brother steps out of the shadows, looking pretty rough around the edges and dog tired, but with a new close, _very_ close, haircut, Lucas breathes a long sigh of relief. Then he points at his brother and tells him he’s tempted to rip him a new one.

“Yeah, good one,” Nathan says croakily, his voice suffering from not being used all week. “What have I done now?”

“Your Mom and your _wife_ are worried sick, you inconsiderate jerk.”

“No,” Nathan denies, picking up the ball and checking it hard to Lucas. “She told me to go do my thing.”

He doesn’t need to explain which _she_ he means. Of course, it’s Peyton.

“For a few hours. Maybe a day,” Lucas says. “That’s what she thought you meant. She’s a wreck.”

Nathan just stands looking completely baffled, before he finally speaks.

“She … she said …”  
“She put you first,” Lucas interrupts him. “Like always. I … I realise you’re hurting, Nathan, but …”  
“You do, huh?” Nathan scoffs.

“Look,” Lucas retorts, moving right into Nathan’s space until there’s just the basketball between them. “I know … I know he was your father.”  
“And yours,” Nathan points out.

“Yeah. And mine. But … he _was_ actually a father to you. I get that. And … look man, I don’t know what the hell I’d do if I lost Keith. I’d be a mess; I know that much. But … you _have_ people. You have your Mom. You have Keith too, if you want. And you have Peyton. You … she put you first, Nathan. You really need to do that for her now. She really needs you.”

“Wh … what happened?” Nathan asks, drawing his palm over his scalp. “Is she okay?”

“Man, she was _shot!”_ Lucas exclaims. _“_ Remember? And … her Dad’s gone again and …”  
“He what? He fucking left again?” Nathan spits out in disbelief.  
“Nathan, you left too. She thinks …” he stops. It’s a hard thing to say, to imagine.  
“What?”

“I think she thinks you blame her,” Lucas admits.  
“For _what?”_ he asks, puzzled.  
“For … your Dad. For Dan … dying.”  
“No,” Nathan says shaking his head. “She wouldn’t think that.” _Would she?_  
“Well … _do_ you?”

“Blame her? Don’t be stupid,” Nathan says emphatically.  
“Tell her. Tell her you don’t blame her.”  
“She doesn’t _think_ that …”  
“Do you love her?” Lucas asks pointedly.  
“Yes! What the …?”  
“Then fucking tell her it’s not her fault! Jesus, Nathan, you’ve got the … you two are like … amazing, okay. I didn’t get it until … but …”

“Until when?”

“In the library. When she … when she was bleeding out. All she wanted was for me to promise to tell you she’d love you forever. And for me to say thank you - to you, from her.”  
“Thank you?” Nathan asks, frowning in confusion.

“Yeah. Thank you.” Lucas repeats. “God knows for what. But how ‘bout you go and be worthy of her thanks?”

Nathan rubs his hands over his face, and across his new buzz cut again, still finding the feeling odd. He nods, then nods again when Lucas says he’ll drive him to Peyton’s house, that he doesn’t look in any fit state to be behind the wheel.

 

At the end of Peyton’s path, when Nathan gets out of Lucas’ truck, he closes the door, then leans in the window.

“So … do … do I have you too?” he asks, referring back to his brother’s earlier words about having people. Lucas nods once.

“Yeah, Nathan. Brothers, right?”

Nathan swallows and nods.

“Brothers. Um … thanks, Luke.”

“Sure,” Lucas says, nodding towards the house. “Now go … and … look, I’ll stop by your Mom’s and tell you’re here. Okay? I’ll tell her you’ll go there tomorrow.”  
“Thanks.”

Lucas gestures towards the house again. “ _Tell_ her,” he insists.

“On it,” Nathan says, turning away, slapping the truck roof with his flattened palm. “On it.”

He’s not surprised to hear loud angsty music. He’s not surprised to find the front door is unlocked; she’s reverted. He _is_ surprised that she’s asleep on the couch, and that it looks like she’s been living downstairs. He pulls the quilt up over her, noting her drawn cheeks and kicking himself for adding to her worries, and starts clearing the few glasses and plates that are on the coffee table and then generally tidies up the room.

When she stirs, an hour or so later, he’s sitting on the floor next to her, with the TV on quietly. It’s a game, of course. He startles a little when he feels her hand on his head.

“Just like old times, babe,” he smiles as he turns. “I turn up to an unlocked door, crappy music blaring into the neighbourhood, mess everywhere and you passed out?”

“Thank God you’re okay,” she breathes, not even thinking about rising to the bait of his teasing.

“I made you worry,” he states gently, resting his hand on hers, which is still running over his scalp. “I’m sorry. I … thought ... when you said _do my thing_ , I thought …”

“Don’t,” she stops him. “But if all you wanted was a change of haircut, you could’ve just said …”

“Oh, yeah … not much left to twist your fingers into, right?” he teases, taking her fingers and tenderly - reverently - kissing the pad of each one.

“I like it,” she says, eyes locked with his.

“Yeah?”  
“It’s … different. But it works. How’d you get here? I hope you didn’t drive. You look …”

“I saw Lucas at the court. He dropped me off. He … Luke said …”  
“What?”  
“He said,” he pauses, draws in a deep breath, “he said you might think I blame you … for … you know …”  
“No. Maybe? I … don’t know.”  
“Babe, no,” he pleads, turning to face her completely. “It’s _my_ fault,” he says before he even realises that’s what’s going to come out.

“God, _what!?_ Why would you say … why would you _think_ that?” she asks, levering herself up to sitting, moaning a little as her leg throbs.

“He came into the school to get me,” Nathan says, anguish across his face. “He was … Christ, he was hard as nails and a … a bastard and … but he came in to get _me_.”  
“But _you_ came in to get _me_!” Peyton cries out. “If you hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have been in there.”

“But … but I _didn’t_!” he exclaims.

“You didn’t what? You _did_ come in for me. I … you said that. _Lucas_ said that.”  
“But I _didn’t_ find you!” he says vehemently, clarifying what he meant with guilt lacing his voice. “I _didn’t_ save you.”

“ _That’s_ what this is about?” she asks, putting together his cryptic remarks after the funeral.

“No! God … maybe? I don’t know,” he mutters, his head in his hands. “I’m … I’m so _confused_.”

“Confused?”

“We … the day before … my Dad … we had this massive argument, and the last thing I said to him was _Jesus Dad, just back off and leave me the hell alone_. _I’ll wind up hating you if you keep doing this._ What sort of son does that make me?”

“C’mere,” she says, clambering awkwardly to her feet, and hopping out of the room.

“Peyton, what the … what are you …?”

She stops by the old answer phone on the hallway table and presses a button, shushing him when he starts telling her she should be sitting down, or better yet, lying down. When his father’s voice begins, he stops abruptly.

_‘Miss Sawyer? Um … Peyton. It’s Dan Scott. I … I’m hoping you know where Nathan is. I’m hoping he’s with you? May I ask a favour? I don’t expect he’ll return my call but perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell him he was right, and I will respect his decision … just ... please … if you could tell him he was right. And … perhaps the two of you would join us for dinner in the next couple of days? I … I’ll leave all that with you.’_

She turns to look at him, questioning. When he’s not forthcoming, she pushes her finger into his bicep.

“What was your fight about? Did he find out about …?” she fingers his ring through his shirt.  
“No,” he says, wrapping his own hand around hers. “He … it was about basketball. He was getting all in my face again and I lost it, reminded him – again - that I already have a coach and that he needed to back the hell off. I said I thought Mom had told him all that, after the pill thing. He … he got this really weird look, and backed off, but then he started up on a different approach and I just … said that … about him about leaving me alone … and I walked out.”

She wobbles a bit on her one leg, and he leans in to support her, looking toward the couch and around the living room; stacks of books, her laptop, sketch pad, a jar of pens and pencils, a small pile of t-shirts.

“Why does it look like you’ve been living downstairs?” he asks.

“’Cos I have.”

“But why? Oh ... fuck … your leg? You can’t get up the stairs?”  
She nod and shrugs.

“I … God … I stood in that hospital and told your Dad that _I_ was the one that was here when he wasn’t. Then I … oh … shit …” he looks at her guiltily, realising she may well be pissed that he’d had a go, even if subtly, at Larry Sawyer over his absences.

“Yeah,” she says. “He told me about your little … discussion. Didn’t stop him going again though.”

“When?”  
“Right after the funeral.”  
“Great. And I did the same thing.”  
“Nathan, don’t. Please. Can we …?”

“What?”  
“Can we just decide to let each other off the hook on all of this?” she implores. “And each let _ourselves_ off the hook?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I promise not to blame myself for anything to do with the shooting, will you do the same? Please?”

“Peyt …”  
“No! Nathan, I _need_ you,” she implores. “I need you back. And you need me, too. I don’t mean don’t grieve. Or get pissed that this happened. But ... just ... don’t blame _yourself._ And don’t …”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t leave me again,” she whispers at the carpet.

“Hey!” he says, lifting her chin up. “I didn’t leave _you_. Tell me you get that? I left … I dunno … I dunno why I felt like I needed to go. But it wasn’t _you_. You’re … you’re the _best_ part of me. You always were.”

“I …”  
“Hey, don’t cry!”

“Why not?” she asks defiantly, with a half sob, half laugh.

“You’ll make me start!”

“Maybe you _should!”_ she cries, throwing her arms around his neck.

“I’d rather kiss you,” he mumbles into her neck.

“Maybe you should!” she repeats. It’s a very salty kiss, with both their cheeks being slick with tears.

“I really need a shower,” she says when they pull apart.

“Yeah,” he mumbles back.

“Hey!”

“Sorry … but … yeah, you do,” he grins, pulling back and resting his chin on her head.

“Can you help me hop up the stairs then?” she asks after she thumps him. Hard.

“I can do better than that,” he says, swinging her up into his arms and carrying her effortlessly up the staircase.

He watches while she wraps her leg in plastic, then helps her into the bathroom and into the shower, then leaves her to it, with the door open in case she needs help. When she re-emerges, wrapped in a large towel, with that ugly plastic gone and just the bandage on her leg, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, in boxers and shirt, doing nothing but waiting for her.

“Feel better?” he asks, trying to rustle up a smile.

“Much. Thank you.”  
“You know I’d do anything for you, to make you feel better.”

“And what do _you_ need to feel better?” she asks as she hops towards him.

“Right now? I just need to sleep next to you,” he says, rising to help her, then sitting again and settling her onto his lap, mindful of her leg.

“Can’t you think of anything else?” she flirts, her palm on his cheek, turning his mouth towards her and kissing him.

“Babe. Your leg.”

She frowns a little, purses her lips, then clearly has an idea of some sort, and moves her hands to start unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you doing?” he asks, stilling her hands.

“Seducing my husband,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Peyt … c’mon.”

She turns to straddle him, somehow moving her good leg to the other side, leaving her injured leg stretched out onto the bed behind him, pressing against him.

“You just said you’d do anything to make me feel better,” she points out flirtatiously.

“That’s not fair. I don’t want to …”

“I know. You don’t want to hurt my leg. But … we’ll be careful. Baby,” she says, kissing the side of his lips, “I need you. I need this. I need to feel human and close to you. And I think you need it too.”

“I don’t …” he frowns. “God, the thought of you not making it out of …”  
“Look at me!” she says firmly, her eyes boring into his. “I’m _here_!”  
She untucks the towel, and wriggles a little, pulling it out from under her and throwing it on the floor.

“I’m _right_ here!” she declares. “I’m …”

“Beautiful. So … so …”  
“Naked!” she says throwing her arms wide. “So, so naked!”

“So so sexy,” he corrects her. “Even with your gammy leg,” he chuckles.

“You know what I told Lucas when I thought I wasn’t going to get out of there?” she asks, then rushes on. “That he had to tell you I’ll love you forever and to thank you.”

“He … yeah, he told me, but ... thank me for what? He didn’t know.”

“For fighting for me. For always coming back one more time. For battling your demons and making yourself into the man I knew you could be. For being the one that makes me whole. For taking the biggest risk ever.”

“Risk?”

She wordlessly lifts the chain that hangs around her neck and rests the two rings on it next to his.

“This,” he says, undoing his chain and removing the ring on it and sliding it onto his own finger, “is not a risk.”

“This,” he continues, unclasping the chain on her neck, slipping the rings down and sliding first the plain band and then the blue stoned ring onto her ring finger, her _left_ ring finger, “is what kept me going for the last week. This is about the only thing that _doesn’t_ feel like a risk. And I think it’s time we stopped acting like it _is_ a risk and stop hiding it. Okay?”

She nods, spreading her hand out, admiring the look of those rings on her finger.

“So … you’re okay wearing these at school?” he asks, rubbing his thumb over them.

“Actually … I want to … when we go back to school, which it seems like it’ll be next week, I want to change my name on the school records.”

“Your name?”  
“Sawyer-Scott,” she explains, placing her ringed hand on his shoulder, stroking the pad of her thumb across his pulse.

“Really?”

“I’m proud of us,” she nods emphatically. “I’m proud of you and me and us. And I want everyone to know it.”

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

She shivers a little and he pulls her tight.

“You’re cold!”  
“Warm me up then!”

“We’ve had this conversation,” he says, trying to be stern and failing miserably.

“And we’ll continue having it until you give in and give me what I want ... husband.”

“But your …”

“Shut up about my leg! There are lots of other parts of me you can focus on right now!”

He pulls back and eyes her, eyebrow quirked.

“Like I said,” he mutters, “beautiful.”

And he kisses her, tenderly at first, then deeply, parting her sweet, sweet lips with his and tasting her mouth with his tongue. He realises then, how much of a mistake it was to leave. No matter what state his head was in, the only thing that can ever bring him back from the abyss, that can anchor him, ground him, is _her_. Her lips moving against this, her tongue behind his top lip, her teeth scraping his bottom lip a little, her moaning against his mouth when he shifts his hands, skimming them down her sides to her hips, then under her, carefully pulling her closer and bucking up into her a little.

He shuffles along the side of her bed a little, easily taking her with him, still being considerate of her injury, opens the drawer of her nightstand and pulls out a condom.

“Promise me you’ll tell me if I hurt you?” he growls near her ear.

“Promise,” she smiles into his blue, blue eyes.

“Promise me you’re mine forever,” he demands.  
“Promise,” she says, taking his face in her palms.

“Promise me you knew I was coming back to you,” he whispers against her breast as he rolls the condom on.

“Promise,” she whispers in his ear as she wriggles a little to position herself right where he needs her to be.

“Promise you’ll never say anyone else’s name when you come,” he pleads, thrusting up into her.

“Promise. Oh … God.”

“Not hurting?” he asks softly, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight against his chest while he pushes in again, though he knows that tone. Knows she’s climbing fast towards release.  
“Not hurting.”

“I love you, babe,” he assures her against her neck while he plunges in again. Again. Again. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”  
“Oh God. Nathan …”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan tells Lucas and Haley the story of the wedding, and Peyton extracts out of him why he disappeared for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may recognise a few bits and pieces here - some conversation borrowed, Peyton's dress ... just a few wee nods to the TV series.

When Lucas and Haley carefully let themselves in the next morning, raising their eyebrows, yet again, at the unlocked front door, a habit she’d fallen back into two days after Nathan disappeared, they proceed up to Peyton’s room, a little concerned that she isn’t in her usual spot on the couch, and that the living room looks immaculate, and that the unattended TV is on. They all but burst into her room to be brought up short as they catch their first glimpse of her, entwined in Nathan’s arms, fast asleep, him on his back, her on hers, but propped against his bare chest, her red sheets rumpled around her, her injured leg sticking out and tucked onto a red pillow.

Nathan’s eyes open and he sees them, unnecessarily moves his finger to his lips and gestures towards her with his head.

“You okay?” Lucas asks quietly.

“I am now,” Nathan affirms. “Thanks, Luke … for everything.”

He spots Lucas and Haley’s entwined hands and tilts his head.

“So … you two?” he asks pointedly.

Lucas and Haley gaze at each other for a moment, then Lucas leans over and softly kisses her temple and she nods shyly.

“How?” Nathan asks his tutor, with a wide grin.

“Um … that’s all thanks to your _wife_ ,” Haley says with a raised eyebrow, gesturing towards the sleeping blonde in the bed.

Nathan looks at Peyton, tucks her hair back behind her ear, and looks back at them with a stupid grin on his face.

“Yeah,” he says, “I should’ve known it’d all come back to Peyton, right?”

“ _You_ wanna tell _us_ how?” Haley asks. He teases her; plays dumb, frowns in question.

“How what?” he eventually asks.

“How a numbskull like you got Peyton Sawyer to marry you?” his brother quips with a wide grin.

“And how you got it through City Hall when your father is the freaking … oh, shit … um … sorry,” Haley cringes. “Was the mayor,” she finishes, when he shakes his head and gestures that it’s okay.

“How about you two go make coffee,” Nathan suggests quietly. “I’ll come downstairs in a few.”

 

 

“So, go on then,” Haley says a few minutes later, placing a steaming coffee mug in front of Nathan, then digging her elbow into his side, “tell us how this whole getting hitched in high school thing works. You just raced off on a Friday and did the deed?”

“Well,” he says, “we kind of did, yeah.”  
“That simple?” Lucas laughs.

“Yes and no,” Nathan grins. “It _was_ a Friday actually, after that shit game in February, and we met up and … yeah … I was not especially cheerful …”

 

_“Hey.”  
“Sorry about the game.”_

  
“And she was upset too,” Nathan tells Lucas and Haley, “it was her birthday the day before and her Dad hadn’t even called her.”  


_“Yeah. Peyt, we don’t have to do this tonight.”_

_“No, no I want to. More than ever.”_

_“You sure?”_

_“Yeah. No regrets.”_  


“So … hang on,” Lucas says, raising a finger, “you told her that you didn’t need to … so  you didn’t just … it wasn’t just a spontaneous thing?”  
“Luke,” Nathan chides him as if he’s an idiot, “you have to get a licence and everything.”  
“Right. Of course.”

“Yeah. So … we …”  
“Woah,” Haley interrupts, “it _was_ an engagement ring, wasn’t it? That whole thing at that party … it wasn’t a promise ring! It was an engagement ring the whole time!”

“Yeah,” Nathan admits, smiling into his mug. “It was. I asked her way back – right after we got back together, really.”  
“And she said yes?” Lucas asks, stunned.

“Kind of.”  
“How do you kind of say yes?” Haley asks.

“I was already 18. She wasn’t. She said … she said that if for the next few months I kept my shit together that yeah, when she was 18, she’d … she’d marry me.”

“Wow,” Haley utters.

“Yeah, cool, right?” Nathan grins.

“Cool that I basically sorted your shit out for you!” Haley teases back.

“You … yeah, okay,” Nathan concedes, “I might owe you. Just a bit.”

“So, then what?” Haley prompts him. “After that bad game, then what?”

“Well, we went to city hall in Wilmington …”  
“Wilmington?”  
“Well, yeah, I mean my Dad’s mayoral office is … was … at the One Tree Hill city hall, and there was no way we wanted him getting involved. Or for anyone else to recognise us and spill the beans to him.”

“Good point,” Lucas grimaces.

“So … we drove to Wilmington and … I had a nice little hotel booked and we just … I had a suit and …”

  


_“Wow. My husband to be is hot.”_

_“I ... yeah, you know what? Your husband to be_ is hot!”  
“So … I guess I need to get dressed.”  
“And I need to go pick up ….”  
“You what?”  
“I’ll be back in a half hour.”

_“You doing a runaway bridegroom on me, Scott?”_

_He kissed her; grabbed her hand and hauled her in and kissed her – hard._

_“Not a chance. So, if you’re having second thoughts,” he said, “you need to be a big brave girl and say so, not secretly hope I’ll get cold feet.”_

_“My second thoughts, and my third and my fourth by the way, are that you look amazing. And you_ _are_ _amazing. And I’m …”_

 _“Amazed?”_  
“Lucky to have you.”  
“I’m the lucky one. Now ... go get changed.”

_When she came out of bathroom he was already back, waiting, holding a bunch of irises, mainly deep purple like the he gave her at the river court months ago, with a few yellow irises too. She tilted her head and smiled and was about to speak when he beat her to it._

_“Oh my God,” he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head._  
“What?”  
“You look …”  
“Nathan,” she said shyly.

_“I … have no words. That dress …”  
“It’s … it was my Mom’s.”_

_“Peyton …” he reached out a hand and she took it, and he kissed her very softly._

_“Are you sure you don’t want to wait to do this with our families?” he asked._

_“I’m sure. Are you sure?”_

_“I’m sure.”  
“Then let’s go get hitched,” she laughed. “But first, you wanna give me those beautiful flowers?”_

_He flushed a little and passed them to her, leaning in to kiss her gently as he did so._

_“They’re gorgeous,” she said._

_“They …”  
“Nate?”_

_“Did you know flowers can have this whole … language thing?” he asked._

_“Um, yeah … I don’t know many. Like … yellow roses are friendship and platonic love, I think. Why? Did you …?”_  
“The lady at the flower shop just told me.”  
“What do they mean? Irises?”  
“Um … the purple ones are like … wisdom and compliments.”  
“That why you said I look …”  
“No,” he stopped her. “I said you look beautiful … well I was going to – I think you interrupted me – because you do look beautiful.”  
“So … wisdom huh?”

_“Well, you are … wise. You just ... you help me so much, you know?” he told her earnestly. “You always just ... know what I need.”_

_“Nathan,” she sighed. “I …”_

_“And, you know, because we’re so freaking hot and all, it’s only right that the yellow ones mean passion.”  
“You’re making that up!”_

_“I am not!”_

_“Wise and passionate?”_  
“Yep.”  
  


_I, Nathan, take you Peyton to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honour you all the days of my life._

_I, Peyton, take you Nathan to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honour you all the days of my life._

 

_Back in the hotel room, after a hushed but intensely contented walk, hand in hand, back from city hall, Nathan slid the door card through the slot and put a hand out to stop her going through the open door._

_“What …?” she began, but he placed his finger over her lips, leant in to peck them quickly, then swung her up into his arms, making her shriek._

_“Nate!”_

_“Gotta carry my missus over the threshold,” he grinned, walking through, then kicking the door closed behind him._

_“Alright, hero,” she giggled. “Now put me down.”  
He obliged, then took a couple of steps and crouched in front of the small room fridge, rummaging about and moving a couple of items to retrieve a half bottle of champagne that he’d sneakily stowed in the back. He turned and waved it gently, grinning with pride at the surprise she was showing._

_“How did you…?”_

_“My Mom gave it to me,” he explained as he removed the cork with a gentle pop._

_“You … you told her?”  
“I told her I was taking you away for the weekend for your 18th birthday. And she just … gave it to me. And said to make sure I spoilt you.”_

_Peyton looked around lovely room, small but beautifully presented, at the champagne he’s pouring into a couple of glass tumblers, at his suit, down at her own dress._

_“Well then,” she smiled, “mission accomplished.”_

_“Shall we sit on the balcony?” he asked._  
“I’d love to.”  
She shivered when she sat down, and he immediately removed his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

_“Happy?” he asked._

_“Yeah. Just … quietly, gently happy. Contented. Does that make sense?”  
“It does.”_

_“You look like there’s something you want to say,” she observed, running a fingertip over his wrist._

_“I … do you think we should have written our own vows?”_

_“Regrets already?”_

_He shook his head and leant in to kiss her._

_“Never. I just wonder if …”  
“I liked the city hall vows,” she assured him. “They’re … meaningful. Simple but meaningful.”_

_“Okay,” he said, but seemed a little … tentative.  
“Nathan. If you want to tell me something, then just tell me. We don’t need to wrap it up in vows to say what we want to say, do we?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“I’m ... you know I’m not so articulate.”_

_“It’s just me, baby.”_  
“You … I mean … you’re everything to me. I hope you know that. I hope you know how much you mean to me and how much it means to me that you gave me that chance four months ago. That you always have my back. That you believe in me.”  
She smiled encouragingly, and he kept going, loving that smile and the way it felt to be so honest.

_“And I want you to know that I’m never going to take that for granted. And I’m going to spend my life believing in you, too. And being there for you and being the best man I can be … for you. And I … I know that a lot of the way I was ... was because I tried to do it alone. And I won’t do that anymore. I know we’re in this together and that I need to be better – much better – about telling you when I’m not … I’ll be there for you, but I know I need to let you be there for me, too. I’ll support you … in everything and anything … and I’ll tell you when I need you to do that for me. Because I know you will. You always have and I know you always will.”_

_“Nathan,” she whispered, eyes welling up._

_“That’s supposed to make you happy, not sad!” he laughed._

_“How could I possibly be sad after that? God, you’re amazing.”  
“Got anything you want to tell me?” he teased._

_“How can I top that?” she protested, laughing, then wiping one solitary tear from the corner of her eye._

_“You don’t need to top anything,” he told her sincerely. “You’re perfect.”_

_“Oh my God, and there you go again!” she protested, ducking her head into his shoulder._

_He lifted her chin with just one finger and gazed at her for a long moment before he leant in, kissing her so softly and sweetly that she knew she had to at least try to convey to him what she was thinking. She pulled back a little, laughing softly when his mouth chased after hers, allowing him another kiss. Or two. Or three._

_“Hey,” she said eventually._

_“Hmmm?”_

_“You’re everything to me, too, Nathan. Truly.”_

_“Good.”  
“And … you know what? I really can’t even begin to match those amazing things you just said to me, but I do know that my … distance … and fear … and all that … that was a big part of our issues too, and … I’m going to promise you something, promise us something. I promise I’ll share, not just our lives, but my … what I’m thinking, and what I’m feeling. And … yes, I will support you and I … I will do my very best to let you support me, too.”_

_Nathan nodded, smiled at her with a deep and true warmth in his eyes, took her hand and carried it to his lips to kiss her rings._

_“Oh my God,” she gasped._  
“What?”  
“What will we do about our rings?” she asked with wide eyes.

_“I thought of that,” he smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out two chains; one fine, one less so. Hers. And his. “We can wear our wedding rings on chains. Just until … we’re ready to …”_

_“It seems … not right to separate them,” she sighed, rubbing the pad of her thumb over her wedding and engagement rings._

_“Don’t then. Put them both on the chain.”_

_“What if anyone notices it’s not on my finger anymore? And, by anyone, I mean Brooke.”_

_“Um ... keep your hands in your pockets? Wear mittens? Tell them it fell down the drain?”_

_“Brooke knows I could get it out.”_  
“Of a drain?”  
“Yeah.”  
“How?”  
“Um … use a wrench, unscrew the pipe. After you put something under it to catch the water and the ... slime and the gross hair and …”  
“Wow.”  
“What?”  
“My wife, the plumber, huh?”  
“My husband, the comedian.”

_“Holy fuck,” he exclaimed quietly with a voice full of awe._

_“What?” she laughed._

_“I’m a husband,” he said with awe.  
“No.”  
“No?”  
“You’re_ _my_ _husband,” she corrected him, her palm resting on his cheek._

_“God, I love you.”_

_“Is this the bit where I tell you to prove it?”_

_“And just how would I do that, Mrs Scott?”_

_“Take me to bed, Mr Scott. This thang ain’t official until it’s consummated.”  
He pulled her to him and swung her effortlessly into his arms in one fluid movement, making her squeal and laugh as he carried her, appropriately bridal style, into the hotel room._

_He put her down gently, giving her a second to get her footing, then turned her gently around so that her back was to him, and swept her hair over her shoulder, easing her back zipper down._

_“Hmmm,” he mused, “I think I remember how to do this.”_

_“Last time you unzipped my dress …”_  
“Yeah. I remember.”  
“You were right,” she said. “That night. You were so right.”  
“Of course,” he said with a smirk as he turned her back around, her dress in a pale green puddle at her feet. “About what?” he asked as their laughter settles.

_“You said I was yours,” she reminded him._

_“Mine,” he nodded. “Forever now.”_

__  
  
  
  


It’s not long after Nathan finishes telling Lucas and Haley the story, that Peyton appears in the doorway, yawning and looking decidedly dishevelled, but limping far less than she has been over recent days.

“Hey,” she murmurs, “any coffee left?”

“I’ll make a new pot,” Haley says, leaping up and moving over to the coffee machine.

“Thanks, Hales,” Peyton smiles, crossing over to the table and pressing her lips to Nathan’s temple when he pushes a chair out and takes her hand as she sits down.

The four chat for a while as they demolish another pot of coffee; basketball, school, Karen and Keith, basketball again. Until eventually Haley and Lucas rise together, without speaking, in accord as they always have been, and head off to do whatever they’re going to do, Nathan accompanying them to the front door, then heading back to the kitchen to find Peyton still sitting, chin in her hand, looking very pensive.

“What’s up?” he asks as he collects the mugs and carries them to the sink.

“Hmmm? Nothing.”  
“Are you forgetting your vows?” he says, frowning a little, as he resumes his seat next to her.

“What?”  
“You promised you’d share not just your life with me, but your thoughts and your feelings. Remember?”  
“Do _you_ remember _your_ vows?” she counters.  
“Of course.”  
“Tell me then,” she challenges.

“I vowed not to shoulder life alone, to let you be there for me, to let you support me.”  
“And?”

“You’re the one looking sad and not telling me why.”  
“You’re the one that’s worried about something and not letting me help.”

“That’s why you’re sad?”  
“Maybe.”  
“That’s a yes, then.”  
“So … what are you keeping from me?” she presses. “Judging from the look on your face when Lucas was talking about Karen and Keith, I’m picking it’s got something to do with your uncle.”

“Sometimes you know me too well, you know that, right?” he says, shaking his head and smiling.

“And?”

So, he tells her about the discussion he had with Keith at Dan’s funeral. That Keith had offered him whatever help he needed, and that Nathan had told him he couldn’t accept any help from Keith when the man wasn’t being honest.

_“About what?”  
“I don’t know what! I just know you’re keeping something from me, Keith. And I think it’s something to do with how my father died.”_

_“Nathan …”_

_“What happened in that hallway, Keith?”_

_“Nathan, I …”_

_“Did that kid shoot him? The Edwards kid? Are you trying to protect the kid’s family?”_  
“No. No. Your father’s gun misfired. I’m not lying about that.”  
“But you are lying about something.”  
“No …. Not ex …”  
“Not exactly? Lie of omission then?”  
“Geeze, Nathan, you need a tutor, why exactly?”

 _“I’m right? What is it, Keith?”_  
“Nathan, I don’t think it’s …”  
“I just want the truth! You offered me support. Support me by telling me the truth.”  
“I’m not sure you want to know the truth.”

_“I do! I just asked you for it!  I need to know!”_

_“I’m not sure you need this truth.”_

_Neither of them had seen Deb approaching them_

_“Keith?” she’d said, clearly having heard them. “It’s okay.”_  
“Mom? You know … whatever this it?”  
“I do. It was me that asked Keith not to tell you … well, not without checking in with me first.”

 _“What the hell is going on?”_  
“It’s not that I didn’t tell you the truth about the gun misfiring, Nathan.”  
“So?”  
“But I didn’t tell you where Dan had that gun aimed when it misfired.”  
“At the Edwards’ kid?”  
“No.”

_“Who then …? No! No way! He ... he was no angel, but he wouldn’t … what? Threaten to shoot his own brother?”_

_“Nathan …”  
“No! I can’t …” he’d backed away. “No. I can’t believe that.”_

_And it was at that point that Nathan had fled, going to Peyton, telling her he needed space, then disappearing for the better part of a week._

“Baby, why wouldn’t you have told me that?” she entreats. “If not _then,_ then yesterday when you got back? Or …”

“What if I’m like that?” he bursts out, his voice laced with fear and dread. “What if I’m like my father in more ways that just fucking basketball?”

“You’re not!” she entreats, her palm against his cheek, her thumb stroking.

“I ... I was though. Be honest. I was like that.”

“But you _stopped!_ You recognised that and you worked on it and you made a decision to be the best version of yourself. That’s why you’re already a better man that your father could ever be.”

“I … promise me … if I start … you fucking tell me, alright!?” he pleads. “If … if there is any backsliding …”

“Oh my God, you’re insane.”  
“Yeah, well, sometimes I think my father was too so …”

“Nathan, I _love_ you. So so much. And there is going to be no backsliding … not from you, and not from me. It’s all forward from now.”


	12. Epilogue - June 2011

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years on, Nathan waits, with Peyton, for a life changing call from Barclays Centre and the draft announcements. As huge as it is, he's got something else on his mind too. Little does he know, Peyton might be holding onto news of her own.

**Epilogue - June 2011**

 

They’re not actually at Barclays Centre for the draft. He decides he wants to be somewhere else, just the two of them. Whatever the outcome, he wants only her to be with him, to witness the high or the … yeah, he doesn’t really want to think about the other possibility. He knows he has a decent shot. He’d had a solid first year at Duke, a strong second year, then something incredible had happened – he still doesn’t really know exactly what – and his third year had just been … out of this world. He’d played out of his skin all season and they’d made the finals. Pipped at the post but still …

In his last year, he’d been made captain and he’d led the Blue Devils to back to back finals. And they’d won. He was an NCAA champ. And he can’t even begin to explain, even now, two months later, how phenomenal that was but it _was_ two months ago and now, both suddenly and yet not suddenly at all, they’re at the beach at Tree Hill. In their old spot. Waiting for a call. _The_ call. And yeah, he’s nervous. But, funnily enough, not just for that reason.

So, the call does come in, and he _is_ drafted, and Seattle is a great city, right? A bit damp maybe, but … right now he’s on the best beach, with the best girl (still his wife, still his gorgeous, sexy, talented, amazing wife) and they’re laughing and hugging and kissing and laughing again. And running, hand in hand; running to his car (he’s already planning an upgrade to a Range Rover), and he’s driving, knowing she thinks he’s taking her to the ‘surprise’ draft party that Luke and Haley, back from Stanford, have planned.

But he detours. And parks. And she’s looking so confused when he opens her door and takes her hand, helps her down, locks the car door and walks her the few steps along the pavement to a jewellery store. _The_ jewellery store.

“Nathan Scott!” she whispers, shaking her head. “You idiot!”

“I’m sorry?” he laughs. “I’m fulfilling a promise! I told you one day there’d be a better ring.”  
“I told you back then I didn’t _want_ a better ring,” she reminds him. “And today is supposed to be all about _you_ ,” she says, pulling him to a stop and taking his face between her hands. “ _Tonight_ is supposed to be all about you.”

“It will be,” he winks, resting his hands at her hips and pulling her in close, closer than is polite, really, on the street, in front of a store.

“Nathan!”  
“You can protest all you like, babe,” he grins, his hands slipping lower and his palms resting on her butt. “But we’re going into this little jewellery store. And we’re choosing an eternity ring. A kick ass super expensive eternity ring. And then we’re going to get burgers.”

“Burgers!?”  
“Uh-huh. Just like that night when you somehow, miraculously, agreed to marry me. Then we’re going to a party.”  
“A … you know? About the party?”

“Of course I know! Haley is the worst secret keeper alive.”  
“Your sister-in-law is kind of hopeless at secrets,” Peyton laughs.

“So is my brother,” he adds. “And _after_ the party,” he continues, pressing his hips into hers, leaning in to place a long open-mouthed kiss at the side of her neck.  
“Oh.”

“Oh?”  
“Hmm. This is awfully public but that is sooo nice.”

“Yeah? I still get you going, huh?”  
“Always.”

“Good. ‘Cos after that surprise party that I know nothing about? And at which I promise, in the interests of Scott-Scott family relations, I will look totally stunned and surprised?”  
“Yeah?”

“You and me? We’re having a private party.”  
“Oh really?”  
“Well … I am about to drop a shit ton of NBA cash on a rock for you after all.”  
“Maybe I’ll choose a little cheap one,” she teases.

“Trust me, babe, there are no little cheap ones in the mix.”  
“I … what? Did you …?”  
“Come in yesterday and put together some for you to choose from?”  
“That.”  
“Why yes, Mrs Scott, I did.”  
  
It’s not Kathryn, and it’s bubbly not coffee. Yes, she knows the first time it slides on to her finger that it’s the one and yes, it’s a beautiful ring; it really is. And yes, Nathan does drop to one knee in front of her - again. He proposes again. She accepts again. And then he suggests a ceremony for friends and family in February, a vow renewal for their fifth anniversary, that as beautiful as she looked on their wedding day, and as beautiful as she still is, he has to admit that he’d love to see her walk up the aisle, in a gorgeous white dress, maybe carrying irises, with attendants and with their friends and family present.

“Okay,” she says wistfully.  
“Okay?” he repeats, a little surprised.  
“Yeah. But … maybe not white.”

“It doesn’t matter that you’re not all virginal, you know.”

She hits him. He’s not surprised.

“No,” she says with a sudden twinkle in her eye, “but it is _way_ too white trash to be in a white wedding dress when you’re nine months pregnant.”

“What?”  
“In February, I’ll be nine months pregnant.”  
“That … but that means ...”  
“Eight weeks. Give or take.”  
“Fuck, I love you.”  
“Kinda glad to hear it.”  
“Both of you,” he says, leaning forward a little to press his lips to her belly.

“You gonna get up here and kiss me anytime soon?” she laughs.

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m getting to know my boy.”  
“Oh my God! Seriously?”

“What?”

“You two are ganging up on me already?”


End file.
